A. 


m 


M 


s-* 


?4 


■f,\v'  ■  ,  Milin 


i_Mi 


fm 


k>r^^ 


,  I  ..  «  *  ^t  • 


JAMES   V.CHLOUPEK 

,,Oe    P.EASANT    V.U.C^    -VENUE 

OAKLAND.    CAUFORN.A 


UCSB    LIBKAKV 


TRANSFORMATION    SCENE. 


THEATRICAL 


AND 


CIRCUS  LIFE; 


OR, 


SECRETS  OF  THE   STAGE, 


GREEN-ROOM  AND  SAWDUST  ARENA. 


EMBRACIN(i 

V   HISTORY  OF  THE  THEATRE  FROM  SHAKESPEARE'S  TIME  TO  THE  PRESENl 
DAY,  AND  ABOUNDING    IN  ANECDOTES    CONCERNING    THE  MOST    PROMI- 
*NENT     ACTORS      AND     ACTRESSES      BEFORE     THE     PUBLIC;      ALSO,     A 
COMPLETE     EXroSITION     OF    THE     MYSTERIES     OF     THE     STAGE, 
SHOWING    THE   MANNER  IN  AVHICH  WONDERFUL    SCENIC  AND 
OTHER     EFFECTS     ARE     PRODUCED;      "^HE     ORIGIN      AND 
GROWTH  OF    NEGRO   MINSTRELSY;   THE  MOST    ASTON- 
ISHING    TRICKS     OF    MODERN    MAGICIANS,   AND     A 
HISTORY     OF     THE     HIPPODROME,    ETC.,    ETC. 


Illustrated  with  Numerous  Engravings  and 
Fine  Colored  Plates. 


By  JOHN  J.  JENNINGS. 


CHICAOO: 
(Tl()l)te  E^iiblisiliiog  Co. 


l--nterc(\  accDrdiriK  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  iSS6,  by 

(JLOHK    in;i?LISHING   CO., 
Ill  the  nfticc-  of  the  Lihr;iri;in  of  Congress,  ;it  Washington. 


PROLOGUE. 

The  theatre  and  the  circus,  both  sources  of  unlim- 
ited amusement  to  the  world,  are  also  objects  of  the 
greatest  interest  to  all  who  have  had  even  a  single 
peep  at  the  stage  or  pressed  their  feet  even  once  upon 
the  sawdust  precincts  of  the  tented  show.  The  tricks 
and  illusions  that  are  mystifying  to  nine-tenths  of 
those  to  whom  they  are  presented  rarely  fail  to  be 
productive  of  pleasure,  and  the  performers,  whether 
before  the  foot-lights  or  within  the  circus  ring,  gen- 
erally succeed  in  so  thoroughly  winning  the  hearts  of 
the  public,  that,  though  their  faces,  when  the  paint  is 
off  and  the  atmosphere  of  glory  has  departed,  might 
not  be  recognized  upon  the  street,  their  names  are  so 
fixedly  identified  with  the  pleasant  moments  associated 
with  their  art,  that  they  become  household  words,  and 
are  spoken,  with  admiration  and  praise,  by  all  classes, 
from  the  newsboy  and  bootblack  up  through  the  vari- 
ous strata  of  society  even  to  the  ruler  of  the  nation. 

In  presenting  this  volume  to  the  public  the  inten- 
tion has  been  to  bring  the  player  and  the  people  into 
closer  relations,  and  by  revealing  the  secrets  of  the 
stage  and  sawdust  arena  to  show  that  what  appears  at 
first  to  be  deep  mystery  and  to  many,  who  are  bigoted 
and  averse  to  theatrical  and  kindred  entertainments, 
the  blackest  diabolism,  is  merely  the  result  of  the 
simplest  combinations  of  mechanical  skill  and  studied 
art,  and  is  as  innocent  of  the  sinister  character  be- 
stowed upon  it  as  are  the  efforts  of  school  children  at 
their  annual  exhibitions  or  the  exercises  of  a  Sabbath 
School  class  before  a  row  of  drowsy  and  nodding  church- 
deacons.     Fault  may  be  found  with  the  private  lives 

(3) 


4  PROLOGUE. 

of  numbers  of  the  members  of  the  theatrical  and  cir- 
cus profession,  but  the  sins  and  shortcomings  of  indi- 
viduals, can  bo  visited  upon  the  entire  class  witii  no 
more  justice  than  can  the  frailties  of  a  few  preachers 
be  applied  generally  to  the  pul])it,  or  the  dishonesty 
of  a  handful  of  lawyers  be  reflected  u[)ou  all  the  dis- 
ciples of  Blackstone  in  existence.  Neither  is  it  just  to 
class  as  theatres  places  of  resort  that  do  not  deserve 
the  name  —  the  "dives"  and  "dens"  that  are  fre- 
quented by  disreputa])lc  men  and  women  whose  low 
tastes  are  catered  to  ])y  men  and  women  every  bit  as 
disreputaljle  as  their  patrons.  Such  establishments 
receive,  in  this  volume,  only  the  severe  treatment  they 
fully  merit. 

In  explaining  the  mysteries  of  stage  representa- 
tions, and  indicating  the  tricks  of  ring  performances, 
as  well  as  in  speaking  of  the  })rivate  lives  of  i)erformers 
and  giving  biographies  of  the  most  noted  actors  and 
actresses  now  before  the  pu])lic,  an  attempt  has  been 
made  to  be  perfectly  accurate  in  every  detail.  The 
anecdotal  i)ortion  of  the  book  has  likewise  'received 
careful  attention,  and  indeed  every  feature  of  the 
work  has  been  given  due  consideration,  in  the  hope 
that  in  and  out  of  the  profession,  Theatkical  and 
Ciiicus  Life  may  nieet  with  a  favorable  reception  and 
be  regarded  as  worthy  the  subjects  of  which  it  treats. 
Commending  it  to  the  kindness  of  all  into  whose 
hands  it  falls;  and  assuring  the  inhabitants  of  the 
mimic  and  real  worlds,  that,  whatever  construction 
may  l)e  i)laced  u[)on  his  sentences,  naught  but  respect 
and  alTection  is  felt  for  the  true  and  good  men  and 
women  of  the  stage,  the  author  parts  from  his  volume 
regretting  that  it  is  not  large  enough  to  give  everybody 
a  place  in  its  pages,  or  to  say  as  much  about  each  in- 
'Jividual  as  each  deserves.  J.  'h  .1. 

St.  Louis,  August  1,  1H82. 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTEK   I. 

A   I'UKLIMINAliY    I'lCEP, 


PAGES 


Admission  Fees  —  Cerberus  at  the  Back  Door — The  Awe- 
Stricken  Stranger  behind  the  Scene  —  Swarms  of  Ac- 
tors and  Emploj'ces  — Description  of  Stage  Settings  — 
The  Green-Roora  and  Dressing-Room  Explored  — A 
Visit  to  the  Dressing-Tent  of  the  Circus  —  An  Act 
that  Beats  anything  of  the  kind  in  the  World  —  The 
Female  Minstrel  Gang  and  the  Break-o'-Day  Girls       -      19-27 

CHAPTER  II. 

A   TIIEATKE    OF    SHAKESPEARE'S    DAY. 

Rude  Carts  as  Primitive  Stages  —  Followed  by  Stone  Thea- 
tres with  Pits  for  Stages  —  Theatres  of  the  Elizabetlian 
Period  —  Sunday  Theatres  in  the  "  Golden  Age  "  — 
Description  of  the  Globe  in  Shakespeare's  Time  — 
Plays  in  the  Times  of  Henry  VIII.  —  Sign-boards  as 
Scenes — Anecdote  of  Charles  II.  —  The  "Wits," 
"Clever"  Men  and  the  Vulgar  Crowd  —  Pipes,  Tank- 
ards, and  Gossip      -  ......      28-36 

CHAPTER   III. 

THE   AMERICAN    THEATRE. 

Davy  Garrick  at  Drury  Lane,  London  —  English  Actors  sail 
for  America  —  Vo}'age  in  the  Charming  Sally  in  1752  — 
The  First  American  Tiieatre — The  First  Programme  — 
The  First  New  York  Theatre,  1753  — Tlie  First  Per- 
formance in  Philadelphia,  April,  1754  —  The  First 
Show  in  Boston,  August,  1792  —  The  Priest  and  the 
Spanish  Lady  —  Elegant  Theatres  of  the  Present 
Period 37-42 

(5) 


()  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    IV. 

AT   THE    STAGE-DOOR. 

PAQKS 

Front  Door  and  Back  Door  Entrances  —  "  Mashers  "  at  the 
"Stage-Door"  —  The  Cerberus  "who  Stands  Guard  — 
Perquisites  Paid  to  Him  —  Bulkhead  and  the  Ballet 
Girls  —  The  Tricks  of  the  Scene  Painter  on  the  Girls  — 
The  Girls'  Revenge  —  Bold  and  Heartless  Lovers  — 
Notes  Pushed  under  the  Drcssing-Room  Door  —  Alice 
Oates's  Mash  —  Watching  the  Manu3uvres  of  the 
"Mashers" — Tale  of  the  Pink  Synimetricals      -        -      43-54 

CHAPTER   V. 

« 

BEFORE   THE   FOOT-LIGHTS. 

People  who  Patronize  the  Theatre  —  The  Young  Blood  — 
Members  of  the  "  Profesh  "  —  The  Giddy  and  Gushing 
Usher  —  The  Bouncer  —  The  Peanut  Cruncher  —  The 
People  who  go  out  "Between  Acts" — The  Big  Hat 
Nuisance  —  Anecdote  of  George  and  Harry  -        -        -      C5-C8 

CHAPTER  VI. 

BEHIND   THE    SCENES. 

An  Amateur  Theatre  —  The  Author's  Experience  as  "  Imp" 

in  a  Spectacular  Scene  — \  Trip  to  the  Moon         -        -      C9-85 

CHAPTER   VII. 

I\    Tin:    1>KESSING-1«)<)M. 

Goodwin's  "  Make-up  "  for  Hobbies  —  Booth  and  Company 
Playing  "Hamlet"  in  Street  Costume  —  Dressing- 
Roonis  of  Uld-Time  and  Present  Theatres  —  Louis 
Harrison  Spoils  a  Play  at  San  Francisco  —  How  Actors 
"Makeup"  for  Various  Parts  —  Tin;  Hair-Dresser 
and  (iie  Actress SC.-IOS 

CHAPTER   Vill. 

WmilN     IIIK    WINiiS. 

The  Stage  Promi)ter  and  His  Duties — Actors  who  "  Stick" 
and  scnne  who  "  Never  Slick  "  — A  Popular  Actress  and 


CONTENTS. 


PAGES 


her  Useful  Husband  —  The  Firemen's  Amours  —  Mary 
Anderson  and  Her  Chewing-Gum — Emmet's  Indiscre- 
tions           106-121 


CHAPTER   IX. 

STAGE  CHARMS  AND  OMENS. 

Burning  of  the  Southern  Hotel  and  Kate  Claxton's  Pres- 
ence —  Superstitions  of  John  McCuUough,  Eaymond, 
Joe  Jefferson,  Sothern,  Florehce,  Booth,  Chanfraii, 
Byron,  Tliorue,  Neilson,  Lotta,  etc.,  etc.  —  Coui'tainc 
andlnce 122-143 

CHAPTER  X. 

NOT   DOWN   IN   THE   BILL. 

Actors  who  Memorize  whole  Newspapers  —  Lovely  Peggy  — 
Kean  Dying  as  ho  Played  —  Sol.  Smith's  Fuany  Adven- 
ture— A  Masher  made  Serviceable  —  Charlotte  Cush- 
man  and  the  Colored  Bell-Boy  who  brought  Down  the 
House  —  The  Call-Boy's  Revenge  —  The  Lecturer, 
Trick  Candle  and  Trap  Door  — An  English  Performance 
of  William  Tell 144-161 

CHAPTER  XI. 

THE   ILLUSIONS   OP   THE    STAGE. 

Mrs.  Bellamy  and  Mr.  St.  Leger  in  Dublin  —  Rousseau's 
Description  of  Paris  Opera  —  Modern  Mechanism — • 
Producing  Steam,  Fire,  Thunder,  Lightning,  etc. — 
Olive  Logan  and  her  Jewels  —  Snow  Storm  in  "The 
Two  Orphans"  —  Rain  in  "Hearts  of  Oalv  "  —  Rivu- 
lets in  "  Danites  "  —  Funny  Inventory  of  "Property  " 
in  a  London  Theatre 162-182 

CHAPTER  XII. 

MORE    OF   THE    MYSTERIES. 

The  Property-Mau  and  lils  Duties  —  Sunlight  —  Moon- 
light—  Twinliling  of  Stars  —  Ocean  Waves  —  Fire  in 
"  Phcenix  "  and  "  Streets  of  New  York  " — Full  Descrip- 
tion of  the  Famous  Raft  Scene       -----  183-104 


8  CONTENTS. 


CHAlTKIi   XIII. 

TIIK    ARMY    OF    ATTACHES. 


PACKS 


Broken  Down  or  "Crushed"  Actors  as  Door-Kcepera — 
The  Treasurer  of  the  Theatre  —  The  Uslier  —  Orchestra 
and  Leader  —  Stage  Manager  —  The  Scenic  Artist  — 
Tlie  Stage  Carpenter,  Supes  and  Minor  Attaches,  and 
Last  but  not  Least  the  Call-Boy 195-205 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

STAGE   STRUCK. 

The  Young  Man  from  Cahokia  — The  Box  of  Gags  — 
Stage  Struck  Girls  of  Louisville  —  Tlie  College  Graduate 
from  Illinois — "The  Warrior  Bowed  His  Crested 
Head"— The  "N.  G."  Curtain  — Marie  Dixon's  Fail- 
ure —  Mrs.  II.  M.  Lewis,  of  Charleston,  Duped  by 
Schwab  &  Rummel  —  Harry  Russell  Tseudo  "Mana- 
ger"— A  Colored  Troop's  Curious  Epistle    -        -        -  20G-22C 

CHAPTER   XV. 

THK    REHKAUSAI,. 

Old-Time  and  Present  Rehearsals  —  Olive  Logan's  Descrip- 
tion of  a  Rehearsal  —  Rehearsal  of  the  Corps  de  Bal- 
let—  Appearance  of  Tagliom,  Cerito,  Carlotta  Grisi, 
Lucile  Grahn  at  Her  Majesty's  Theatre,  in  London       -  227-240 

CHAPTER   XVI. 

CANDIDATES   FOR   SHORT   CLOTHES. 

Advertising  for  Ballet  Girls  —  Salaries  Paid  them  —  Who 
Apply  —  Where  the  Can-Can  Flourishes — The  Ups  and 
Downs  of  a  Ballet  Girl's  Life  — The  Nautch  Dancers  241-250 

CIIAI'TER  XVII. 

TRAINING   BALLET   DANCERS. 

Interviewing  Sig.  J.  F.  Cardella  —  The  French  School 
Theatre  La  Scala — Amount  of  Practice  Reciuired  —  Tiie 
American  Ballet  —  Salaries  of  Premieres,  Coryphees, 
etc.  — The  Time  Required — A  Little  Fond  and  Foolish 
at  Times 251-2C3 

CHAPTF.R   XVIII. 

PLAYS    AM)    ri.AYWRIGHTS. 

The  Trials  and  Tribulations  of  the  Gawky  Young  Drama- 


CONTENTS.  9 


PAGES 

tist  —  English,  French  and  American  Playwrights  — 
The  Desire  for  Foreign  Plays  —  Bartley  Campbell's 
Christmas  Story 264-275 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

MASHERS   AND   MASHIXG. 

Gunakophagists  or  Woman-Eaters  —  Corner  Loafers  — 
Mashers  of  the  Profession  —  Female  Mashers  —  The 
*  Blonde  Beauties  of  the  Leg  Drama  —  Model  Letter  — 
Lillian  Russell's  Escapades  —  "  Patti  "  and  the  Midget 
"Foster"  — The  Old  Masher  Squeezed  — The  Girl  in 
Red  Tights  at  Uhrig's  Cave  —  Music  and  Mashing        -  27C-296 

CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  MAIDEN  AND  THE  TENOR. 

Ambleleg  — His  Soul  Full  of  Art  and  Throat  Full  of 
Music  —  Miss  Justaytine  the  Pink  of  Beauty  and  Per- 
fection of  Belleship  —  The  Chorus  Singer  Mashed  on 
the  Maiden  —  The  Mash  Mutual  —  The  Brother  and 
Lover  Mash  the  Tenor  —  Suit  for  ^10,000  and  the  Com- 
promise      29G-a02 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

FISHING  FOR  FREE   PUFFS. 

A  First-Class  Puff  in  a  Leadville  Paper — All  Anxious  to 
Appear  in  Print  —  Various  Ways  of  Puffing  —  Sending 
Photos  —  Diamond  Robberies  —  Falling  Heir  to  a  For- 
tune, etc. — Minnie  Palmer's  Artless  Display  of  Un- 
derwear—  The  Abbott  Kiss  —  Catherine  Lewis  Fling  — 
Emelie  Melville's  Presents  to  Critics  —  The  Morning 
Buzzard  and  the  Evening  Crow      -        -        -        -        -  303-314 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE   ACTRESS   AND   THE   INTERVIEWER. 

All  Performers  must  Meet  the  Interviewing  Fiend  —  How 
the  Interviewer  is  Received  by  Patti,  Nilsson,  Gerster, 
Kellogg,  Cary,  Ilauk,  Abbott,  Bernhardt,  Morris,  Mod- 
jeska,  Neilson,  Andei'son,  Davenport,  Mitchell,  Lotta, 
and  Others 316-319 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A  FEW   FOOT-LIGHT   FAVORITES. 

Mistress  Woffington  —  Children  as  Actors  and  Actresses  — 


10  CONTENTS. 


PAfiE.S 


Little  Corinne  —  Debut  of  Emma  Livry  —  Nell  Gwynuc 
the  Fish  Girl  —  Lola  Montez,  the  Pretty  Irish  Girl  — 
Adali  Isaiics  Menken  as  Mazeppa  —  Mar}'  Anderson  the 
Tragedienne  —  Lotta  and  Maggie  Mitchell,  and  a  Host 
of  Others a20-342 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

CHINESE    AND    JAPANESE    THEATRICALS. 

Great  Length  of  the  Play  —  Description  of  a  phinese  Thea- 
tre—  The  Prompter  —  The  Audience  —  The  Actors  — 
The  Musicians  —  Japanese  Theatres  —  No  "Reserved 
Seats"— Prices  of  Admission  — Side  Shows       -        -  3-t3-.'552 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

OPKRA    AND    OPERA    SINGERS. 

Palmo,  the  Father  of  Italian  Opera  in  America  —  Interview 
with  Col.  Mapleson  —  The  Cost  of  Rigging  a  Com- 
pany—  What  it  Costs  Every  Time  the  Curtain  is  Rung 
Up  —  Mme.  Grisi's  Superstition  —  The  Best  Operas  — 
Salaries  of  Singers  —  Neilson  and  the  Diamond  Mer- 
chant           353-300 

CHAPTER   XXVI. 

THE    MINSTREL   BOYS. 

Emmet,  Brower,  Whltlock  and  Pelham  among  the  Earliest  — 
Pot-Pie  Herbert  —  Daddy  Rice  and  Jim  Crow  —  Zip 
Coon  — Coal  Black  Rose  — My  Long  Tail  Blue  —  Early 
Days  of  George  Cliristy — Minstrel  Men  Generally  Im- 
provident—  Minstrel  Men  as  Mashers  —  Ilaverly's  Mas- 
todon Minstrels —  The  Boys  at  Rehearsal      -        -        -  3C7-381 

CHAPTER   XXVII. 

l-ANIOMIME. 

George  L.  Fox,  tlie  King  — G.  H.  Adams,  liis  Successor  — 

Boxing  Night  in  London 382-388 

CHAPTKR   X.WIII. 

VARIETY    DIVES    AND    CONCERT    SALOONS. 

FirBt-Class  Varieties  —  Harry  Hill's  Famous  Resort  —  In- 
terview with  Harry  Hill  —  Ida  and  Johnnie  —  Deacons 
in  a  Dive  —  The  Bouncer  at  Work — The  Cow-Boy's 
Call  for  Mary  —  The  Can-Can  —  Music  by  Bands  — 
Over  the  Rhine 389-415 


CONTENTS.  11 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A   TEAM    OF   IRISH    COMEDIANS. 


PAGES 

Ginnis  the  Alderman        ---....  41G-429 


The  Song  and  Dance  Men  —  Ilarrigan  &  Hart  —  Levi  Mc- 


CH AFTER  XXX. 

THE   BLACK   ART. 

Sword  Swallowers  —  Jugglers  in  America,  Europe,  China, 
and  Hindoostan — Herman  Sells  the  Barbers  —  Her- 
man Sold  by  the  "Boys"  —  Wonderful  Chinese  Jug- 
glers—  How  Ladies  are  Suspended  iu  Mid-Air  —  How 
to  Eat  Fire  —  Walk  on  Red  Hot  Iron  —  Cut  off  a  Man's 
Head,  etc.,  etc. 430-439 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE    INDIAN   BOX   AND    BASKET    TRICK. 

The  Trick-Box  —  The  Board  —  The  Basket  —  The  Magi- 
cian's "  Ghost  Story  " 440-448 

CHAPTER   XXXII. 

* 

VENTRILOQUISM. 

Prof.  Kennedy  and  Val  Vose  —  Louis  Brabant  Valet  de 
Chambre  to  Francis  I.  Wins  Wife  and  Fortune  through 
his  Wonderful  Gift  — M.  St.  Gille  and  his  Wonderful 
Exploits  — Alexandre  and  the  Load  of  Hay  —  The  De- 
lusion Fully  Explained  —  How  to  do  it  —  The  Suffo- 
cated Victim     .-- 449-458 

CHAPTER     XXXIII. 

ON    THE    ROAD. 

Making  Dates  at  the  "  the  Square  "  —  Copy  of  Contracts  — 

Billing  the  Town  —  The  Cyclonic  Advance  Agent  -  459-465 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE    GREEN-EYED    AND    OTHER    MONSTERS. 

The  Street  Arabs  and  Lotta  —  The  Stage  at  the  Beginning 
of  the  Eighteenth  Century  —  Little  "Accidents"  of 
Bernhardt  and  Indiscretions  of  Patti —  "  Sudden  John- 
nie "  and  Colombier  —  Lizzie  McCall's  Crime  —  Miss 
Bertha  Welby  and  Miss  Cleves  —  The  "  Old  Gray  "  and 
the  Skipping  Rope  Dancer  —  Husband  and  Wife  and 
Ballet  Girl  —  Mephistopheles  and  Venus        -        -        -466-483 


12  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

JOHN   WILKES    BOOTH,  PRESIDENT   LINCOLN'S   ASSASSIN. 

PACKS 

Shooting  of  Abraham  Lincoln  —  Booth's  Rehearsal  at  Wal- 
lack's — All  Old  Actor's  Opinion  of  J.  W.  Booth  —  His 
Eichard  the  IH.  a  Fine  Piece  of  Acting  —  Booth  and 
Collier  as  Eichard  and  Eichmond 484-491 

CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

THE    SUMMEK    VACATION. 

How  the  Stars  and  Lesser  Lights  Disport  Themselves  — 
Actors  at  the  Seaside  —  The  *'  Old  Gray  "  Surprises  the 
Actors  at  the  Banquet  —  Millions  Spent  upon  Theatri- 
cals    ....  4<i2-501 

CHAPTER  XXXVn. 

FUN   AMONG   THE   ELKS. 

Who  the  "-Elks"  are  — .Tughandle's  Friend  Wants  to  be  an 
Elk  — Getting  the  Candidate  Ready—  The  High  iMuck- 
a-Muck  — The  Peculiar  Circle  — The  Descent  —  The 
Path  of  Progress  —  The  Upward  Flight  to  Glory  — 
Down  !  Down  ! !  Down!  ! !  -«-  On  "  Elncycle  "  —The 
Merciful  Net -An  Elk 602-511 

CHAPTER  XXXVIir. 

THE   CIRCUS    IS    HERE. 

The  Disengaged  Canvasman's  Poetry  —  Circus  Posters  — 
The  Grand  Parade  —  The  825,000  Beauty  —  Twelve 
Ponies  and  Forty  Horses  on  a  Rampage  —  Henry  Clay 
Scott  and  his  Aged  Father  —  Sold  his  Stove  to  go  to 
the  Circus 512-521 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

UNDER  THE   CANVAS. 

The  Small  Boy  and  the  Circus  —  Beating  the  Show  —  Slack 
Wire  and  Balloon  Performances  —  Donaldson's  111- 
Fatcd  Trip — Frightful  Accident  in  Mexico  —  Circus 
Green-Room  and  Dressing- Rooms  —  The  Clown  —  Bare- 
back Riders  and  Tumblers  —  Merryman's  Admission 
Fee  — The  Clown's  Baby 522-r.35 

CHAPTER   XL. 

AIUOHATICS    AND   EQUESTRIANISM. 

Training  Clilldrcn  —  Olive  Logan  on  the  Circus  —  Trajjezc 


CONTENTS.  13 

PAGES 

Performers  —  Tight  Kope  Feats  —  Training  Riders  — 
Tlie  Leading  Equestrienne  — Tlie  Great  English  Rider, 
Miss  Lily  Deacon  —  The  Georgia  Lady's  Experience  — 
Cow-Boys  Raid  on  the  Ring    ...        -  -  536-552 

CHAPTER  XLI. 

A  ROMANCE   OF   THE  RING. 

Shadowville  —  Miss  Nannie  Florenstein,  the  most  Wonder- 
ful Bareback  Rider  in  the  World  —  Her  Cruel  Task- 
master—  Nod  Struthers  to  the  Rescue  —  'All's  Well 
that  Ends  Well" 553-562 

CHAPTER  XLII. 

LEAPING  AND   TUMBLING. 

The  Athlete  of  Ancient  Rome  —  Grand  and  Lofty  Tum- 
bling of  To-day  —  Double  and  Triple  Somersaults        -  5G3-57I 

CHAPTER  XLIIL, 

AN   ADVENTURE   WITH   GIANTS. 

Capt.  M.  V.  Bates  and  Wife— The  Tallest  Couple  In  the 
World  —  The  Eat  Woman  and  the  Living  Skeleton  — 
The  Circassian  Girl 572-580 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

THE    TATTOOED    TWINS. 

The  "Ad."  in  the  Morning  Paper  —  Capt.  Costentenus  — 
The  Modus  Operandi- — ^Henneberry  and  the  "Old 
Salt "  —  Singular  Story  Told  by  Henry  Frumell  —  Tat- 
tooed by  South  Pacific  Savages        -        .        .        .  581-589 

CHAPTER  XLV. 

IN   TUB   MENAGERIE. 

Zazel  Shot  out  of  a  Cannon  —  The  Zulus  —  Gen.  Tom 
Thumb  and  Wife  —  Thumb  and  Campanini  —  Hugged 
and  Kissed  by  an  Ape  —  Millie  Christine  the  Famous 
Two-Hoadcd  Lady  —  The  Eighth  Wonder  of  the 
World  —  Jocko  Spoils  a  Comedy  —  Circus  in  Winter 
Quarters 590-608 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAGE, 

Froxtispiece  (Colorkd  Platk) 1 

Stage  of  Modern  Theatre -  18 

Lotta 22 

Interior  of  Modern  Theatre 3G 

Decorating  a  Scene  Painter 47 

The  "Masher" '-         -  56 

Tlie  Big  Hat 61 

George  and  Harry    -        - 63 

Louise  Montague 64 

Maud  Brausconibc   -         -         - 65 

Selina  Dolaro -         .        .  o8 

John  McCullougli -  70 

Belle  Howitt 73 

John  A.  Stevens        .        .        - 76 

Lillie  West        -        - 79 

Pauline  Markiiam  (Colored  Plate')          ....  80 

Adah  Isaac  Menken 83 

Millie  La  Fonte 85 

Ballet  Girl's  Dressinir-Boom 87 

Edwin  Booth 89 

McKee  Rankin          --...-..-  91 

The  Throe  Villas 93 

Sarah  Bernhardt 96 

The  Late  Adelaide  Neilson 99 

Dressing  an  Ad  rcss'  Hair 102 

Marie  Roze        .        -                  -                  105 

In  the  Green-Room 106 

A  Green-Room  Tableau 107 

Getting  their  "Lines"     .-------  109 

Milton  Nobles 110 

Improving  Spare  Moments -  112 

An  Actress' Useful  Husband 113 

Making  Love  in  the  Side  Sci  lies      -         -                  -         -         -  115 

M'lle  Geraldine  and  Little  Gerry     -         -                           -         -  117 

Sobering  a  Comedian 120 

McCull(<ugh  as  Virginius 121 

Kate  Claxton 123 

The  Late  Venie  Clancie    -         - 126 

Catherine  Lewis       ...        -                          -                 -  128 

Chanfrau -         -         -  131 

Fanny  Davenport 134 

Dion  Boucicault 136 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS  15 

PAGE. 

Mrs.  Boucicault       ..-.----.  136 

Maud  Granger  ----------  139 

Portia  and  Shylock  -        -        -        -        -        -        -        -        -  143 

Lizzie  McCall  -        -        -      »  -        -        -        -        -        -        -  145 

Pin  up  my  Skirts      ---------  148 

Annie  Pixley  as  M'liss     -        -        -        -        -        -        -        -  150 

The  Call  Boy's  Reveniie  -        -        -        -----  151 

Thos.  W.  Keene        ---------  154 

Emma  Thursby         ---------  156 

Lillian  Russell .                 -  153 

Joe  Jefferson    ----------  159 

Roland  Reed     -        -        -        -        -        -        -        -        -        -  ICO 

Lizzie  Webster  (Colored  Plate)      -        -        -        -        -  IGO 

Lawrence  Barrett -        -  IGl 

J.  K.  Eramett  ----------  164 

John  T.  Raymond -        -                 -  166 

Katherine  Rogers     ---------  168 

Josephine  D'Orme -  170 

Fendinand  and  Miranda  -        -        -        -        -        -        -        -  173 

Lester  Wallack        .        .        -        - 175 

Clara  Morris     ----------  177 

Helen  Dingeon          -        .        -        - 178 

Scott-Siddons  -----'-.---  I8I 
John  Parselle   ----------]  84 

Sol  Smith  Russell -        -        -        -  187 

Rose  Coghlan  ----------  189 

The  Raft  Scene         -        -        -        -        -----  192 

Minnie  Hauk    ----------  197 

Helping  the  Scene  Painter       -------  20I 

The  Old  Woman  of  the  Company   -        - 204 

The  Esthetic  Drama        --------  205 

Kitty  Blanchard       ---------  209 

Mrs.  Langtry    - .         .         ,  213 

Marie  Prescott  as  Parthenia    -        -        -        -        -        -         -  217 

Mme.  Fanny  Janauschek -        -  222 

Rose  Eytinge 226 

Agnes  Booth -        -        -  230 

"Now  then,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  all  ToreUier"        -        -  234 

Training  Ballet  Dancers 235 

National  Dances       ..-----..  237 

Marion  Elsiore  (Colored  Plate)       -        -        -        .        -  240 

Drilling  for  the  Chorus    --------  245 

The  "Sucker" 248 

Donna  Julia's  Eyes  -,        =        -,----  253 


16 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTIIATIONS. 


PAGE. 

Obcron  and  Titauia 255 

Measuring  for  the  Costume 257 

M.  B.  Curtis 260 

A  Premiere  before  the  Audience 262 

A  Bowery  "Masher" 276 

Lady  Macbeth 278 

Working  a  Greeny  at  a  Matinee 280 

From  one  of  the  Mashed 282 

Adelina  Patti's  "Mash" 287 

J.  II.  Haverly 288 

A  Monkey  Spoiling  a  Mash 292 

Ambleleg 295 

Serving  a  Writ  on  Fauny  Davenport 304 

Ernesti  Rossi 307 

Slippers  for  Free  Puffs 311 

Miss    C()NNOI,LY   (COLORKD   PlATE) 320 

Little  Corinnc 322 

Taglioni  Congratulating  Emma  Livry 326 

Lotta 332 

Maggie  Mitchell 333 

Emma  Abbott 334 

Called  before  the  Curtain     ' 338 

Fay  Templeton 342 

Chinese  Theatre 348 

Ciiinese  Property  Room 351 

Minnie  Maddern 352 

Crowning  a  Tenor    -        - 356 

Patti 359 

Gerster 361 

George  Christy 370 

You  are  the  Sort  of  Man  I  Like 373 

Jim  Crow 378 

G.  H.  Adams 382 

Fencing  Scene  in  Black  Crook 390 

Mad.  Thoo 392 

Gus  Williams 394 

She  Tickled  Ilim  Under  the  Ciiiii 399 

M'lle  Genf:vieve  (Colored  Plait.) 400 

Armado  and  Jaquenetta 402 

Laura  Don        -- 404 

Benedick  and  Beatrice 405 

Materna 406 

Thatcher,  Primrose  and  Wvkt 407 

A  "Bowery"  on  a  Lark 408 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS.  17 

PAGE. 

Concert  Saloon  Band 410 

Female  Band    - -        .        .        .  m 

Female  Orchestra     -        - 412 

James  O'Neill '?.  413 

An  Ideal  Masher      -._ 414 

Edwin  Ilarrigan 417 

Tony  Hart 418 

Herman's  Sell .        .        .        .  432 

The  Box  Trick,  Fig.  1 440 

The  Box  Trick,  Fig.  2 441 

The  Box  Trick,  Fig.  3 441 

The  Box  Trick,  Fig.  4 -442 

The  Box  Trick,  Fig.  5 443 

On  the  Road     --. 405 

The  McCall  Tragedy 472 

Blackmailing  an  Actress 474 

Jealousy  ---. 47g 

Edward  Kendall 473 

Out  in  the  Cold 480 

John  Wilkes  Booth 485 

Scene  from  Grand  Duchess     -        - 493 

John  W.  Norton       - 496 

Mary  Anderson  (Colored  Plate)      -        -        .        .        .  496 

A  Candidate  in  Regalia -  504 

Muck-a-Muck  ---- 508 

The  Circus  World -        -        -        -     *  512 

Twenty-five  Thousand  Dollar  Beauty 517 

Adam  Forepaugh     -        -        -        -        -        ...        .  520 

Beating  the  Circus 623 

W.  H.  Donaldson 525 

Catalina  Georgio's  Frightful  Death        -        -        .        .        .  526 

Bareback  Riding 537 

Trapeze -        -  539 

Mdme.Lasalle 542 

Annie  Li\aNGSTONE  (Colored  Plate)         ....  545 

Circus  Riders  --- 546 

Dan  Rice _  ^^        .        .  55O 

A  Human  Pyramid  ------.--.  562 

Leaping 565 

Bicycle  Riding          --" -  571 

Giant  and  Giantess -        -        579,  580 

Performing  Elephants      -        -        - 596 

Jumbo 699 

Curtain 608 


.STAOK  OF  A  modi:kn  1 1 1  i:a  1  lUI, 


CHAPTER    I. 


A    PRELIMINARY   PEEP. 


Anybody  can  get  into  the  auditoriuin  of  a  theatre 
by  paying  an  admission  fee  reaching  from  twenty-five 
cents  up  to  $1.50,  and  the  sawdust  precincts  of  the 
circus  may  be  penetrated  for  the  modest  sum  of  fifty 
cents  ;  but  behind  the  curtain  of  the  theatre  and  beyond 
the  screeneddoor  through  which  circus  attractions  enter 
tlie  exhibition  arena,  are  sacred  places,  witli  secrets 
that  are  so  valua])le  to  their  owners  that  they  dare  not 
for  less  than  a  small  fortune  allow  the  public  to  view 
or  even  to  understand  them.  A  general  knowledge 
of  the  simplicity  of  theatrical  and  circus  tricks  —  of 
the  delusions  that  make  up  the  stock  in  trade  of  show- 
men generally  —  would  destroy  their  value  as  salable 
articles,  and  make  everybody  a  little  Barnum  or  Jack 
Haverly  of  his  own,  with  ability  to  furnish  himself 
with  amusement  at  home,  while  the  former  masto- 
donic  managers  could  only  look  on  and  weep  at  the 
educational  facilities  with  which  the  country  was  over- 
run, and  mourn  the  Shakespearian  days  when  people 
were  easily  pleased  with  the  poverty-ridden  stage  and 
bare  representations  that  were  ofi^ered  them.  But 
there  is  no  fear  that  the  public  will  ever  be  instructed 
up  to  such  a  high  degree  in  regard  to  the  inside  work- 
ings of  the  theatre  and  circus,  that  there  \vill  not  at 
all  times  be  plenty  of  patrons  for  both  these  excellent 
forms  of  entertainment.     The  manao-ers  take  a-ood  care 

(19) 


20  A    PRELIMINARY    PEEP. 

to  keep  their  secrets  to  themselves,  ;is  those  "who  go 
jjiying  around  the  shrines  in  which  the  theatric  arcana 
arc  held,  very  soon  find  out.  At  the  back  door  of 
every  theatre  —  the  entrance  to  the  stage  —  is  a  cer- 
berns  of  the  most  pronounced  kind,  who  would  sooner 
bite  his  own  grandfather's  ear  off  than  allow  anybody 
not  entitled  to  the  privilege,  to  i)ass  him  ;  Avhile  at  the 
door  of  the  circus  dressing-room  and  all  around  it  are 
faithful  sentinels  who  wmII  listen  to  no  password,  and 
through  whose  ranks  it  is  as  impossible  to  break  as  it 
is  for  the  fat  boy  in  the  side  show  to  throw  a  double 
somersault  over  seventeen  horses,  w^ith  an  elephant  as 
big  as  Jumbo  at  the  far  end  of  the  line.  It  will,  how- 
ever, be  the  proud  privilege  of  the  readers  of  this  book 
to  get  as  close  to  the  secrets  of  the  staije  and  sawdust 
arena  as  one  can  well  do  without  knowing  absolutely  all 
about  them,  and  by  the  time  the  last  page  isTead  and 
the  volume  is  ready  to  be  closed,  I  think  the  readers 
will  be  both  deliirhted  and  astonished  with  the  revela- 
tions  that  have  been  made. 

Turn  the  average  man  loose  on  the  stage  of  a  theatre 
at  night,  while  a  play  is  going  on,  and  it  is  a  Kussian 
kobol  against  a  whole  San  Juan  mining  district  that  he 
will  not  know  whether  he  lias  struck  the  seventh  circle 
of  heaven  or  is  in  a  lunatic  asylum.  He  w^ill  meet 
some  very  queer  creatures  in  the  scenes  ;  he  will  see 
many  strange  things;  the  brilliant  lights  around  him, 
the  patches  of  color  flashing  into  his  eyes,  thesea  of 
faces  and  the  tangle  of  millinery  in  the  auditorium,  will 
mystify  him  ;  the  startling  streaks  of  black  upon  the 
faces  of  the  men  ami  women  who  Jostle  him  as  he 
closely  hugs  the  wings,  their  red  noses  and  blooming 
cheeks,  the  general  tomato-can  aspect  of  their  faces, 
the  sha</<ry  wisrs  and  stra2:i;lin<;  beards  that  look  as  if 
they  had  been  torn  off  the  back    of  a  goat  only    ten 


A   PRELIMINARY   PEEP.  21 

minutes  before  ;  the  dismal,  commonplace  clothes  that 
shine  so  radiantly  when  seen  from  a  chair  hi  the  par- 
quette  or  dress  circle, —  all  these  things  will  set  his  poor 
brain  in  a  whirl ;  and  whiie  he  is  looking  on  awe-stricken, 
the  scene  shifters  will  come  rushing  down  upon  him 
with  a  new  delusion,  trampling  on  his  toes  in  a  manner 
that  suggests  in  a  most  potential  way  his  superfluity  in 
that  particular  jjlacc,  and  pushing  him  aside  without  the 
merest  apology,  and  perhaps  with  no  other  remark  than 
a  fragment  of  fervent  profanity,  as  if  he  were  a  wretched 
street  Arab  in  that  mimic  world  in  which  the  scene 
shifter  and  the  captain  of  the  "  supers  "  play  such  very 
important  parts.  People  come  out  of  every  imagina- 
ble place  all  around  him.  There  seem  to  be  doors 
everywhere,  —  in  the  walls,  the  floor,  the  ceiling,  and 
even  in  space;  and  as  the  "vasty  deep"  and  the 
rest  of  the  surroundings  give  up  their  dwellers,  the  in- 
truder receives  fresh  jolts  and  thrusts,  and  possibly 
additional  donations  of  profanity.  This,  of  course, 
applies  only  to  the  male  apparitions  that  overwhelm 
the  strange  visitor  to  the  new  world  behind  the  scenes. 
Thp  female  portion  of  that  illusory  sphere  have  noth- 
ing to  say  to  him  except  with  their  eyes,  which  very 
forcibly  inquire  the  meaning  of  his  presence  there. 

If  a  person  would  like  to  understand  how  awfully 
strange  and  lonely  it  will  be  for  the  last  individual  left 
alive  upon  earth,  he  need  only  pay  a  first  visit  to  the 
stage  of  a  theatre  where  he  is  not  acquainted  with  any 
of  the  actors  or  actresses,  and  has  not  even  the  pleasure 
of  knowing  one  of  the  minor  attaches.  Any  attempt  to 
form  an  acquaintance  is  promptly  and  unmistakably 
repelled,  and  all  the  poor  unfortunate  has  to  do  is  to 
move  up  where  he  is  out  of  everybody's  way,  and 
he  can  look  on  and  wonder  to  his  heart's  content.  As 
he  inspects  his  surroundings  and  has  his  attention  called 


22 


A    PRELIMINARY   PEEP 


to  the  actions  of  the  people  whose  business  it  is  to 
place  the  stage  in  shape  for  an  act  or  scene  of  a  play, 
ho  will  readily  comprehend  the  meaning  of  forming  a 
world   out   of   chaos.     If  they   are   getting   ready   the 


y. 


L. 


LOTTA, 


balcony  scene  for  "  Komeo  and  -Juliet,"  wing  pieces  are 
pushed  out  to  rt[)r('sent  trees  and  the  side  of  the  house 
of  the  Cai)ulct6  —  and  what  a  house  it  usually  is,  too, 


A    I'KELIMINAKY    PEEP.  23 

for  such  elegiiiit  people  !  The  front  of  the  house  is 
rapidly  placed  in  position  })etween  two  wings,  the  bal- 
cony is  quickly  nailed  on,  and  with  the  aid  of  a  rude 
scaffolding  behind  the  scene  and  a  ladder,  the  fair  Juliet 
mounts,  and,  feeling  her  way  carefully,  at  last. steps  out 
upon  the  frail  structure  to  tell  the  sweet  moon  her  love 
for  Romeo.  The  whole  thins:  looks  ridiculous.  Even  the 
stately  daughter  of  the  Capulets  has  not  beauty  or  skill 
enough  to  remove  the  absurditv  from  the  scene  which  has 
the  appearance  of  being,  and  is  in  reality  nothing  else 
than  wood  and  canvas  freely  splashed  with  paint  of 
the  proper  colors.  A  painted  box  represents  a  stone  ; 
a  green  carpet  passes  for  grass  ;  the  beautiful  bric-a- 
brac  that  opens  the  eyes  of  the  aesthetic  people  in  the 
audience  is  only  brown  paper  hurriedly  daubed  by  the 
scene  painter's  apprentice;  the  wall  of  the  Capulets' 
garden  is  a  very  frail  canvas  concern,  and  the  floral 
attributes  are  frauds  of  the  deepest  dye  from  the  scenic 
artist's  long  table  of  colors.  The  whole  picture  is 
simple,  but  unintelligible  to  the  looker-on  for  the  first 
time,  and  as  he  vanishes  through  the  door  he  laughs 
heartily  at  the  very  thin  disguise  tragedy  and  comedy 
are  required  to  put  on  to  delude  and  please  the  public. 
Let  him  return  to  the  theatre  in  the  mornins:  and 
view  its  mysteries  shorn  of  the  dazzle  and  splendor 
that  the  night  brings.  He  will  be  more  astonished 
still.  The  place  is  usually  as  dark  as  a  dungeon,  there 
being  something  peculiar  in  the  construction  of  the- 
atres which  makes  them  brio;ht  at  ni2:ht  and  dismal 
during  dajdight.  If  a  stray  slant  of  light  falls  any- 
where upon  the  stage  it  will  be  rudely  mocked  by  the 
bits  of  burning  candle  by  the  aid  of  which  the  stage 
carpenter  is  at  work  right  in  the  very  sjsot  where, 
twelve  hours  before,  Romeo  and  Juliet  lived  and  died 
for  each  other  in  such  a  lamental)ly  pathetic  way  that 


24  A    PRELIMINARY    I'EEP. 

the  audience  shed  tears,  and  only  gave  the  hichrymal 
rainstorm  a  rest  at  intervals  long  enough  to  shower 
the  star  with  ap2)ldusc.  The  stage  carpenter's  assist- 
ant is  there  too,  the  machinist,  the  scene  painters,  the 
men  who  have  charge  of  the  company's  baggage,  the 
property  man,  and  others.  They  fill  the  scene  in  a 
lugubrious  and  whollj'  uninteresting  way,  — all  are  at 
work,  and  as  heedless  of  the  attendance  of  strangers  as 
the  actors  and  stao;e  hands  of  the  nii^iit  before  had 
been.  The  scenes  have  lost  their  color  — such  as  are 
left,  and  this  mimic  world  that  hud  its  admiring  and 
aspiring  hundreds  is  as  bare  and  desert-like  as  a  bald 
head  after  its  owner  has  been  using  hair  restoratives 
for  about  six  months.  It  has  neither  shape  nor  any 
suggestion  of  its  whilom  beauty  and  attractiveness. 
The  green-room  may  be  explored,  and  the  dressing- 
rooms,  but  they  will  reveal  nothing ;  their  former  oc- 
cupants are  probably  still  abed,  and  unless  there  is  to 
be  a  rehearsal  they  will  not  be  seen  around  again  until 
7  o'clock  at  nijj^ht.  He  must  not  be  too  searching  in 
his  explorations  or  the  attention  of  the  attaches  will  be 
attracted,  and  the  conversation  that  will  follow  may 
not  be  the  most  pleasant  in  the  world  to  him.  Moving 
down  the  stairs  that  lead  to  the  space  under  the  stage, 
the  explorer  will  find  it  dai-ker  and  more  dungeon-like 
still,  and  even  if  it  were  li<::ht  nothing  could  bo  seen 
but  the  steam  boiler,  for  heating  and  power  purposes, 
the  ventilating  ai)i)aratus,  the  numerous  trap-door 
openings  and  the  posts  about  them,  with  a  few  other 
accessories  that  are  hardly  worth  mentioning.  Again 
he  will  l)e  forced  to  confess  that  everything  is  very 
simple,  but  he  cannot  understand  any  part  of  it,  and 
again  he  goes  uway  with  a  laugli  on  his  lips  and  mer- 
riment in  his   heart  because  the  people  are  so  easily 


A   PRELIMINARY  PEEP.  25 

pleased,    and  theatrical  managers    find   it  so  easy  to 
entertain  them. 

A  visit  to  the   dressino--tent  of  the   circus  will  be 
equally  barren  of  appreciable  results.     He  can  see  the 
dazzling  costumes,  the  shapely  limbs   of  the  females, 
the  gaily-caparisoned  steeds,  the  red  gold-laced   coats 
of  the  supers,  and  a  chaotic  heaping  up   of  a  number 
of  indescribable  articles,  but  behind  the  canvas  screen 
that    divides   the    tent   lie    secrets  that  he    must  not 
attempt  to  penetrate,  for  there   are   the  lives,  the  lies 
and  the  fascinations  of  the  performers.     There,  awk- 
ward limbs  receive  their  roundly  shaping,  and  old  age, 
by  a  magic  touch  with  the  elixir  of  the  "  make-up  " 
box,  puts  on  the  masquerading  bloom  of  youth.     The 
same  might,  to  some  extent,  be  said  of  the  dressing- 
rooms  of  the  theatre,  only  the  application  could  not 
be  as  wide  or  general  as  in  the  circus  profession,  for 
the  lives  these  people  lead  soon  lay  waste  their  beauty 
if  they  happen  to  be  young,  and  crowd  senility  upon 
them  long  before  the  usual  time.     Their  work  is  always 
hard,  their  surroundings  are  of  the  very  worst  kind, 
they  grow  up   in  an  atmosphere  of  fraud,  and  they 
necessarily  learn  early  the  arts  of  deception  whereby 
their  employers  make  fame  and  fortune.     But  I  have 
taken  a  stranger  into  the  dressing-tent,  and  I  nmst  not 
abuse  the  hospitality  of  the  place  by  exposing  its  sins 
in  his  presence.     The  stranger  is  introduced  all  around, 
shakes    hands    with    everybody,    even    the    premiere 
equestrienne,   or,   perhaps,  the  charming  and  daring 
little  lady  who  is  twice  daily  shot  out  of  a  cannon,  and 
besides  makes  two  headlong  dives  a  day  from  the  dome 
of  the  tent  into  the  net  spread  beneath.     All  are  glad 
to  see  him,  and  he  is   surprised  to  find  that  the  two 
Indians  who  juggle  fire-brands  and  do  other  feats  not 
at  all  consistent  with  the  traditions  of  the  aborigines, 


26  A    rUELIMINARY   PEEP. 

have  not  sufficient  savaj^e  blood  in  their  veins  to  make 
respectable  cigar  store  signs,  but  are  base  counterfeits 
of  the  noble  red  man,  ap[)lications  of  chocolate  and 
vermilion  to  their  faces,  and  the  usual  accompaniment 
of  black  hair,  feathers,  and  deerskin  clothing  having 
bestowed  upon  them  all  the  air  of  the  child  of  the 
forest  that  they  possessed.  As  the  band  sounds  the 
music  for  the  riding  act  the  equestrienne's  horse 
dashes  tamely  into  the  ring,  and  the  gentlemanly 
agent  of  the  show  pushes  the  visitor  out  to  have  him 
"  look  at  an  act  that  beats  anything  of  the  kind  in  the 
world." 

As  in  the  material  or  mechanical  features  of  the 
show  there  are  mysteries  of  the  most  interesting  and 
instructive  kind,  so,  too,  the  personal  features  of  the 
realm  of  entertainment  —  the  great  world  of  amuse- 
ment—  contain  much  that  will  not  only  surprise,  but 
will  tickle  the  unsophisticated.  By  lifting  the  veil  the 
least  bit,  the  reader  can  have  a  peep  at  the  most  at- 
tractive of  the  events  and  incidents  that  go  to  make 
the  romantic  career  of  an  actor  or  actress.  There  are 
various  little  things  that  look  simple  and  innocent 
enough  when  they  appear  in  tiie  shape  of  a  newspaper 
paragraph  that  contain  a  world  of  meaning  to  the  ini- 
tiated. There  are  methods  of  getting  and  keeping 
players  before  the;  })ublic  of  which  the  latter  know  no 
more  than  they  do  of  the  wife  of  the  man  in  the  moon. 
There  are  flagrant  scandals  mingling  with  the  innocent 
revels  of  these  masquerading  people,  and  there  are, 
too,  some  of  the  saintliost,  sweetest,  manliest  and 
womanliest  of  individuals  in  a  profession  that  almost 
the  entire  world  looks  upon  willi  the  wildest  suspi(Mon, 
and  whose  briirht  names  and  fair  fames  can  never  be 
tarnished  by  the  inifpiitous  doings  of  persons  lower 
and  less  respectable    in   character.      Jn  all  that  will  l)e 


A   PRELIMINARY    PEEP.  27 

written  here  regarding  the  dark  side  of  tlieatrical  life, 
I  wisli  it  distinctly  understood  that  there  is  no  desire 
or  intention  to  cast  even  the  slightest  reflection  upon 
the  honored  and  respected  members  of  a  grand  pro- 
fession, and  wherever  a  seemingly  sweeping  and  un- 
complimentary statement  may  be  made,  the  reader 
will  be  kind  enouijh  to  add  a  savins:  clause  in  favor  of 
all  those  who  do  not  deserve  such  condemnation.  In 
the  concert  saloon,  the  variety  den,  the  boys'  theatre, 
and  the  numerous  other  dives  in  which  vice  parades 
boldly  and  nakedly,  will  be  found  ample  field  for 
trenchant  and  graphic  writing.  These  pits  of  infamy 
flourish  everywhere,  and  are  as  freely  patronized  as 
the  charms  of  their  female  attractions  are  freely  dis- 
played ;  the  girls  in  short  dresses,  in  gleaming  tights, 
with  padded  bust  and  cotton-rounded  limbs,  their  se- 
ductive wiles,  their  beer-thirstiness,  their  reckless 
familiarity  with  male  friends  and  strangers,  alike  from 
the  beardless  boy  of  fourteen  to  the  bald  and  wither- 
ing roue,  the  ample  freedom  with  which  they  throw 
themselves  into  the  arms  of  victims  and  give  them- 
selves up  to  the  most  outrageous  revels  ;  the  female 
minstrel  gang  and  the  break-o'-day  girls,  who  supple- 
ment their  sins  on  the  stage  with  subsequent  and  even 
more  surprising  iniquity  in  the  hop  or  dance  that  fol- 
lows the  show, —  all  these  phases  of  the  lower  strata 
of  theatrical  life,  as  being  more  productive  of  interest- 
ing secrets  of  a  so-called  stage,  must  be  touched  upon, 
that  the  reader  may  be  able  to  contrast  the  extremes 
of  the  amusement  world,  and  understand  that  in  mimic 
as  well  as  real  life,  there  are  abject  misery  and  squalid 
sinfulness  while,  above  all,  shines  the  grand  and  stain- 
less character  of  the  noble  and  pure-minded  people 
who  bring  genius  and  virtue  to  the  profession  of 
which  they  are  bright,  shining  ornaments. 


CHAPTEll     ir. 

A    THEATRE    OF    SIIAKESPEAIIE's    DAY. 

If  some  of  the  old  Greek  dramatists  could  shake  to- 
gether their  ashes  and  assume  life,  thoy  Avould  open 
their  ancient  eyes  to  look  upon  the  beauty,  comfort, 
and  charming  symmetry  of  the  first-class  theatre  of 
the  present  day.  The  ancients  were  at  first  obliged 
to  put  up  with  representations  given  upon  rude  carts  ; 
afterwards  stone  theatres  were  constructed,  with  the 
performers  placed  in  a  pit  in  the  middle  space,  but  no 
such  effort  at  decoration,  or  to  provide  for  the  con- 
venience of  spectators,  was  to  be  seen  as  is  to  be  found 
everywhere  now.  The  plays,  too,  while  they  may 
have  been  delightful  to  our  Hellenic  })redecessors, 
would  hardly  draw  a  corporal's  guard  at  the  present 
time,  when  spectacular  melodrama  is  all  the  rage, 
and  the  only  chorus  the  average  theatre-goer  cares  to 
see  is  the  aggregation  of  pretty  girls  in  entrancing 
tights,  and  with  the  utmost  scantiness  of  clothes  to 
hide  their  personal  charms,  who  sing  the  concerted 
music  in  comic  oi)era.  This  is  the  kind  of  chorus  that 
sends  a  thrill  of  ecstacy  through  the  heart,  and  around 
the  res[)londent  dome  of  thought  of  the  much-maligned 
modern  l)al(l-head.  The  strophe  and  anti-strophe  of 
the  ancient  drama  would  set  the  nineteenth  century 
citizen  crazy  as  a  wild  man  of  Borneo.  The  ancient 
drama  was  gradually  replaced  by  the  ecclesiastical 
drama,  —  the  mystery  or  mirach;  play,  —  an  example  of 

(28) 


A    THEATRE    OF    SHAKESPEARE 's    DAY.  29 

which  remains  to  us  in  the  celebrated  "  Passion 
Phiy,"  performed  at  Obarammergan  at  stated  intervals, 
and  over  the  projected  production  of  which,  in  this 
country,  there  was  so  much  trouble  that  the  play  was 
never  produced.  In  this  style  of  drama,  events  in  the 
life  of  the  Savior,  or  the  great  mysteries  of  the  church, 
were  the  topics  dealt  with  by  the  saintly  play-wright, 
and  the  actors  personated  characters  ranging  from 
the  Devil  up  through  the  various  grades  of  saintliness 
and  angelic  beatification  to  God  Almighty  himself. 
The  miracle  play  flourished  during  the  middle  ages, 
and  survived  down  almost  to  the  Elizabethan  period, 
when  Shakespeare  appeared  upon  the  scene  ;  and  with 
his  advent  there  came  a  revolution,  the  outgrowth  of 
which  is  the  present  perfect  and  beautiful  theatre. 
The  change  in  the  style  of  plays  brought  a  change  in 
the  style  of  places  for  their  representations,  and  while 
the  Bard  of  Avon  was  making  his  reputation  in 
the  dramatic  line,  the  Globe  and  Blackfriars  were 
leading  the  way  to  advancement  in  the  matter  of  the- 
atrical structures.  They  had  performances  on  Sun- 
day in  those  olden  times,  and  while  good  Christians 
were  worshipping  God  in  their  sanctuaries,  the  iinde- 
vout  Britons  of  the  "golden  age"  were  worshipping 
Thespis  in  his. 

Let  us  drop  back  into  a  theatre  of  the  Shakespearian 
epoch,  some  Sunday  afternoon  when  the  weather  is 
fine,  and  you  will  not  be  compelled  to  stand  bare- 
headed in  the  pit.  Let  us  go  to  the  Globe.  It  was 
situated  on  the  Bankside.  It  was  a  wooden  build- 
ing, of  hexagonal  sh:ipe,  open  to  the  sky,  and 
partly  thatched.  To  a  little  tower-like  projection  from 
the  roof  was  fastened  a  staff  of  no  inconsideral)le 
height,  from  which  always  fluttered  the  flag  of  Eng- 
land. Windows  were  sparsely  distributed  here  and 
there,  on  each  side  of  the  building,  while  over  the  door 


30  A    THEATRE    OF    SHAKESrEARE's    DAY. 

was  displayed  the  figure  of  Hercules  bearing  the  clobc 
upon  his  brawny  shoulders.  Whether  the  mythologi- 
cal giant  came  with  his  terrestrial  burden  to  dedicate, 
171  propria  persona,  this  temple  to  the  mightiest  of  the 
muses,  or  whether  the  whole  thing  was  only  a  cunning 
contrivance  of  some  skilful  artisan,  eml)odying  the 
conception  of  a  clever  play  writer,  history  does  not 
record . 

Whenever  a  play  was  to  be  enacted,  the  entrance  to 
the  Globe  was  always  jammed  with  footl)oys,  eager 
for  a  chance  to  hold  a  fjentleman's  horse,  or  lonnirin<'^ 
gallants,  who  collected  to  show  themselves  and  to  ogle 
the  ladies  as  they  entered.  It  was  a  lively  sjiectacle, 
as  stiff  dames  and  ruffled  noblemen,  poor  artisans  and 
sleek  gallants,  wits  and  critics,  footmen  and  lal)orers 
and  ragged  urchins  stepped  forward  to  pay  the  admit- 
tance fee  of  a  shilling  or  a  sixpence,  or  to  make  a  re- 
spectful offer  of  their  credit,  which  was  usually  most 
disrespectfully  condemned  as  unlawful  tender.  It  was 
a  lively  sight  as  gouty  old  gentlemen  flourished  huge 
batons  over  the  scrajj-iry  heads  of  malicious  l)ovs  who 
jostled  them  purposely ;  as  titled  old  dames  in  im- 
mense flaring  petticoats  endeavored  to  smooth  their 
noble  wrinkles,  and  look  mincing  and  modest  under 
the  impertinent  gaze  of  the  bedizened  fops,  and  as  the 
fops  themselves  twisted  and  l)ent  and  l)o\vc'd  and 
shook  tiieir  powdered  wigs,  twirled  their  glove-fingers, 
or  turned  out  their  toes  fastidiously,  at  the  imminent 
risk  of  dislocating  their  tarsals. 

But  let  U3  enter  with  the  crowd  and  observe  the  in- 
ternal economy  of  the  theatre,  and  the;  charatiter  of 
the  performance.  Though  externally  hexagonal,  the 
building  within  is  circular  in  form.  There  is  no  roof, 
as  before  intimated,  and  the  exhiI)itions  occurring  only 
in  the  summer  and  in   i)leasant   weather,   the  air    is 


A    THEATRE    OF    SHAKESPEARE' 8    DAY.  31 

always  serene  and  pure,  and  the  audience  requires  no 
protection  from  storms  or  wind.  In  the  centre  of  the 
enclosure  is  the  pit,  as  in  modern  play-houses.  Here, 
"  the  understanding  gentlemen  of  the  ground,"  as 
Ben  Jonson  has  it,  revelled  in  the  delights  of  the 
drama  at  sixpence  a  head  ;  the  bosom  of  the  earth 
their  sole  footstool,  and  the  blue  canopy  of  heaven 
their  only  shelter.  The  "  great  unwashed  did  congre- 
gate "  upon  this  spot,  sometimes  in  immense  numbers, 
to  luxuriate  at  once  in  Shakespeare  and  tobacco  ;  for 
be  it  known,  the  ancient  theatres  of  London  were  to 
the  working  classes  very  much  what  its  modern  porter 
and  beer  shops  are.  They  were  places  of  resort  where 
tradesmen  and  tradesmen's  wives  assembled  to  gossip 
and  smoke  and  steep. 

Surrounding  the  pit  upon  all  sides  except  where  the 
stage  completed  the  circle,  were  the  boxes  or  rooms,  as 
they  were  called.  In  these  were  assembled  those  who 
could  lay  claim  to  rank  or  wealth.  They  were  fur- 
nished Avith  wooden  benches  —  a  luxury  of  which  the 
pit  could  never  boast,  and  which  was  purchased  for  a 
shilling.  It  will  be  observed,  from  what  has  been  said, 
that  the  internal  arrangements  of  the  ancient  theatres 
were  upon  precisely  the  same  plan  as  those  of  the 
modern.  The  cause  of  this  identity  of  structure  may 
be  easily  traced.  As.  late  as  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII., 
it  was  customary  to  enact  plays  and  pageants  in  the 
courts  of  inns.  These  were  usually  quadrangular  in 
form,  with  balconies  or  piazzas  projecting  into  the 
court,  and  corresponding  with  the  stories  of  the  build- 
ing. The  stage  was  erected  near  the  entrance-gate, 
and  occupied  one  entire  side  of  the  quadrangle.  The 
inn-yard  thus  formed  the  pit  or  parquette,  for  the  ac- 
commodation of  the  "  understandino;  o-entlemen," 
while  the  balconies  or  rooms  (rising  al)ove  each  other 


32  A    THEATRE    OF    lSHAKESPEARe's    DAY. 

ill  tiers  varying  Avitli  the  miinbcr  of  stories)  corrc- 
sponded  to  tlie  boxes.  It  wiis  from  this  crude,  origi- 
nal conception  that  the  architects  of  Queen  Elizabeth's 
re'is^n  fashioned  the  Globe  and  Blackfriars,  and  from 
thence  has  it  come  down  to  the  present  day. 

Directly  in  front  of  the  pit  was  the  stage,  protected 
by  a  woollen  curtain.  Unlike  modern  "  drops,"  it  was 
divided  in  the  middle,  and  suspended  by  rings  from 
an  iron  rod.  When  the  performance  was  about  to 
commence  it  was  drawn  aside — opening  from  the 
middle  ;  the  rolling  up  process  is  an  achicvment  of 
some  later  mind. 

Hark  !  Do  you  hear  the  gentle  grating,  the  jin- 
gling, the  rustling  of  Avoollen  ?  Without  the  slightest 
premonitory  symptoms  there  has  been  a  rupture  of 
the  curtain,  and  the  mysteries  it  so  securely  hid  are 
most  unexpectedly  revealed.  Seated  upon  wooden 
stools  or  reclining  upon  the  rushes  with  which  the 
stage  is  strewn,  are  a  number  of  individuals  com- 
posedly smoking  long  pipes,  whom  the  unsophisti- 
cated might  take  for  actors.  Far  from  it ;  they  are 
the  perpetual  bane  of  actors  —  wits  and  gallants,  who 
delifrht  in  nothinnf  so  much  as  in  exhibiting  themselves 
for  the  public  to  admire,  or  confusing  the  actors  by 
their  pleasantries  and  disturbing  the  progress  of  the 
play. 

Protrudininr  from  the  further  wall  of  the  staijc  is  a 
balcony,  supported  on  wooden  pillars,  and  ilanked  by 
a  pair  of  boxes  in  which  those  who  rejoiceil  in  be- 
ing singular  or  who  could  not  afford  tlie  full  price  of 
admission  Avere  accommodated.  The  balcony  was 
used  by  the  actors.  It  served  as  tlic  rostrum  when  a 
largo  company  was  to  be  addressed  ;  it  was  the  throne 
of  kings  and  pi'incos,  the  grand  judgmont-seatof  mighty 
um[)ires,  and  in  cases  of  necessity  was  convenient  as  the 


A   THEATRE    OF    SHAKESPEARE' S    DAY.  33 

first-stoiy  window  of  an  imaginiiry  dwelling-house. 
For  this  latter  purpose  it  was  particularly  useful  in 
the  o;;irden  scene  between  Romeo  and  Juliet.  But 
while  we  have  been  delaying  in  description,  the  rushes 
upon  the  boards  have  rustled,  the  actors  have  made 
their  appearance,  and  the  business  of  the  play  has 
commenced. 

For  the  purpose  of  illustrating  the  manner  in  which 
performances  were  conducted,  we  select  the  "  As  You 
Like  It,"  of  Sliakespeare,  as  beiug  most  familiar  to  the 
general  reader,  and  also  j^eculiarly  adapted  to  our  pur- 
pose. Orlando  and  Adam  make  their  appearance, 
and  a  siijnboard  nailed  to  one  of  the  side  entrance 
communicates  the  altogether  unsuspected  fact  that  we 
are  gazing  upon  an  orchard.  We  see  nothing  which 
in  any  way  favors  the  agreeable  illusion  :  there  are 
the  rushes,  the  smoking  fops,  the  balcony  and  a  maze 
of  pine  boards,  but  nothing  that  looks  like  trees. 
Still,  let  not  these  things  move  you  to  that  degree 
of  uncharitableness  or  presumption  that  you  doubt 
whether  there  be  an  orchard  ;  does  not  the  infallible 
board  with  its  painted  letters  positively  affirm,  "  This 
be  an  orchard?  "  Other  dramatis personoe  soon  enter, 
and  the  hypothetical  orchard  becomes  the  scene  of  a 
most  animated  and  interesting  colloquy — the  assem- 
bled company  receiving  no  intimation  that  the  fruit 
trees  are  no  more,  until  the  curtain  falls,  or  rather  is 
drawn,  upon  the  first  act. 

When  the  woolen  hangings  are  again  separated,  the 
imagination  is  no  longer  painfully  strained  to  support 
the  illusion  of  tlie  apples,  but  the  unerring  board 
directs  the  wandering  eye  to  the  vast  forests  of  Ard en. 
Here  Jaques  makes  his  sublime  forest  meditations  in 
an  area  of  ten  feet  by  twelve,  enclosed  in  rough  pine 
boards ;  his   enthusiasm,  considerably  damped   by  the 


34  A    TllEATKE    OF    SHAKESPEARE's    DAY. 

provoking  witticisms  of  critics  and  gallants,  and  his 
utterances  ciiokcd  by  the  volunies  of  t()l)acco  smoke 
which  roll  in  lazy,  suffocating  clouds  toward  the  ceil- 
ing from  a  score  of  pipes.  The  affectionate  ditties  of 
Orlando  are  naih'd  to  visionary  trees,  and  he  makes 
passionate  love  to  the  fair  Rosalind  amid  fumes  which 
strangle  tender  phrases,  and  convert  sighings  into  pul- 
monary symptoms  of  a  different  character. 

It  should  here  be  observed  by  way  of  explanation, 
that  Rosalind,  when  personated  in  Elizabeth's  time, 
was  fair  only  by  courtesy  ;  for  female  })arts  were  en- 
acted during  her  reiijn,  and  indeed,  during  many  sub- 
sequent  reigns,  by  boys  or  young  men.  There  is  an 
anecdote  related  of  Charles  II.,  which  is  a  matter  of 
history,  and  illustrates  this  point  very  well.  It  is 
said  that  on  one  occasion,  visiting  the  theatre  at  the 
bringing  out  of  a  new  play,  l)y  some  great  author, 
he  became  impatient  at  the  unusual  delay  in  drawing 
asunder  the  curtain.  The  royal  wrath  soon  became 
extreme,  and  it  was  essential  to  the  prospects  of  the 
*'  management  "  that  it  should  l)e  appeased.  Accord- 
ingly, when  the  vials  of  iniperial  indignation  were 
aljout  to  be  emptied  promiscuously  upon  the  assembly, 
when  the  storm  was  just  about  to  burst,  a  messenger 
from  the  green-room  informed  his  majesty  that  the 
fair  heroine  had  not  finished  sliaving, — and  the  tem- 
pest immediately  subsid(Hl.  At  each  successive  act 
new  boards  with  fresh  inscriptions  inf(UMn  us  of  the 
situation  of  tlie  performers.  The  saloons  of  tiie  duke's 
palace  and  the  cottage  of  the  peasant  —  scenes  in 
doors  and  scenes  out  o(  doors  —  are  precisely  the 
same,  Avith  the  exception  of  the  invariable  and  ever- 
changing  signboard. 
coo 

But  there   is   one  novelty,  one   new  feature   in  the 
representation    as    the    i)lay   progresses.     It    will    be 


A  THEATRE   OF   SHAKESPEARE's   DAY.  35 

recollected  that  the  balcony  was  mentioned  as  furnish- 
ing a  throne  for  princes,  and  a  judgment-seat  for  dis- 
pensers of  justice.  During  the  wrestling  contest 
between  Charles  and  Orlando,  this  most  serviceable 
commodity  comes  into  requisition.  Here  "sits  the 
"  duke  "  as  umpire  of  the  combat  and  general  of  the 
troops  and  retainers  who  stand  on  guard  below.  It 
is  quite  refreshing  to  hear  his  stentorian  voice  issuing 
from  so  unusual  a  quarter  —  it  furnishes  quite  an 
agreeable  relief  to  the  tedious  monotony  of  insipid 
dialoijue  "•oino;  on  amons;  the  rushes  below. 

The  play,  however,  proceeds  rather  sluggishly  from 
the  utter  mea<j:reness  and  insufficiency  of  the  "  scenery, 
machinery  and  decorations,"  so  indispensable  to  the 
attractiveness  of  theatrical  exhibitions.  The  trades- 
men in  the  pit  turn  their  backs  to  the  stage  and  their 
eyes  to  the  skies,  as  they  clasp  affectionately  the 
almost  exhausted  flagon,  and  pour  into  their  thirsty 
throats  the  residue  of  half  a  dozen  })ot;itions.  The 
crimpled  dames  in  the  boxes  relax  their  majestic 
stiff'ness,  and  relapse  sonmolent  into  the  arms  of  the 
gouty  old  gentlemen,  their  husbands.  The  wits  and 
"clever"  men  upon  the  stage  grow  more  boisterous 
in  their  pleasantries,  and  fumigate  more  zealously  as 
they  pelt  the  unfortunate  actors  with  rushes,  or  trip 
them  as  they  "  exeunt."  To  the  vulgar  crowd  the 
only  attractions  which  the  performance  offers,  are  the 
brilliant  dresses  of  the  actors  and  the  vestige  of  a  plot 
which  the  personation  enables  them  to  glean.  Asa 
general  thing,  however,  the  stage  now  receives  hardly 
any  attention.  Pipes,  tankards,  and  gossip  are  the 
order  of  the  day,  and  cverj'body  is  glad  when  Orlando 
succeeds  in  obtaining  his  hereditary  rights,  wins  the 
hand  of  the  beautiful  Rosalind,  is  dismissed  in  happi- 


36 


A   TIIEATRE    Or    SHAKESPEARE  S    DAT. 


ness,  and  the  woolen  screen  slips  along  its  iron  rod 
for  (he  hist  time. 

Such  was  the  style  of  dramatic  exhibitions  in  the 
Elizabethan  era.  The  stage  was  totally  devoid  of  all 
scenic  appendages  calculated  to  produce  the  illusion 
necessary  to  add  interest  and  intelligence  to  the  plot. 
Rocks  and  trees,  palaces  and  hamlets,  places  of  fes- 
tivity and  scenes  of  shipwreck,  all  existed  merely  in 
the.  imagination,  with  neither  properties  nor  scenery 
to  aid  in  the  deception. 


1NTE1;1< 'i;  (..1    A   MMi>hi;N  tHKA  riili. 


CHAPTEK    III. 


THE    AMERICAN    THEATRE. 


Goocl-natured,  rosy-cheeked,  cheerful  little  Davy 
Garrick,  as  Dr.  Johnson  called  the  tragedian,  was  in 
the  zenith  of  his  glory  at  the  Drury  Lane,  London, 
about  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  and  Goodman's 
Fields,  which  had  cradled  the  wonderful  actor,  was  in 
its  decline.  It  declined  so  rapidly  after  Garrick 
deserted  it  that  its  manasfer,  Wm.  Hallam,  failed  in 
1750,  and  the  theatre  was  closed.  Hallam  at  once 
turned  his  thouo:hts  toward  America  as  a  tield  in  which 
his  fortune  might  be  replenished,  —  English  actors  and 
managers  still  look  upon  this  country  as  an  El 
Dorado,  —  and  so  he  consulted  with  his  brother  Lewis 
Hallam,  a  comedian,  and  the  two  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion to  organize  a  company  and  run  the  risk  of  being 
scalped  by  what  they  considered  the  liberal  but  blood- 
thirsty tomahawk-wielding  citizens  of  the  New  World. 
They  got  a  company  together,  twenty-four  stock  plays, 
many  of  them  Shakespearian,  were  selected,  Avith 
eight  farces  and  a  single  pantomime,"  The  Harlequin 
Collector,  or  The  Miller  Deceived."  Wm.  Hallam 
and  his  brother  were  to  share  the  profits  of  the  ven- 
tur<j,  and  the  former  was  to  remain  at  home  while  the 
latter  managed  the  company  and  threw  in  his  services 
as  first  low  comedian,  his  wife  and  children  also  takino- 
parts  in  the  performances. 

Under   the   direction  of  Levvis   the   company,  with 

(37) 


38  THE   AMERICAN   THEATRE. 

sonic  scenery,  costumes,  ;uul  all  Uic  usual  stage  acces- 
sories, set  sail  on  l)oard  the  Chariniiig  Sally  in  1752. 
During  the  voyage  when  the  weather  permitted,  the 
company  rehearsed  their  plaj's  on  the  quarter-deck 
of  tlie  vessel,  having  the  crew  and  officers  for  their 
audience,  and  receiving  from  them  many  manifesta- 
tions of  the  dcli<2:lit  which  their  histrionic  efforts 
brought  to  the  Jack  Tars'  hearts.  They  landed  at  Wil- 
liamsburg, then  the  capital  of  Virginia,  and  the  mana- 
ger after  a  diliixent  search  found  a  store-house  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  town,  which  he  thouirht  would 
suit  his  pur[)ose.  This  he  leased  and  metamorphosed 
into  a  theatre  with  j^it,  gallery,  and  boxes,  and  having 
the  establishment  ready  on  September  5,  1752,  on  that 
day  the  first  performance  ever  given  in  America  by 
a  regular  company  of  comedians,  was  given  to  a  pre- 
sumal)1y  large  and  delighted  audience.  As  was  the 
custom  in  those  days,  the  bill  was  a  double  one,  con- 
sistins:  of  "The  Merchant  of  Venice"  and  the  farce 
♦'  Lethe."  The  cast  for  '«  The  Merchant  of  Venice" 
was  as  follows  :  Bassanio,  Mr.  Rigb}'- ;  Antonio,  Mr. 
Clarkson  ;  Gndiano,  Mr.  Singleton  ;  Salanio  and 
Duke,  !Mr.  Herbert ;  Salarino  and  Gohhs,  ]\lr.  "^^'ig- 
nel  ;  Launoelot  and  Tubal,  Mr.  Ilullam  ;  S/ii/lock,  ]\Ir. 
Malone  ;  Servant  to  Portia,  Master  Lewis  Hallam  (be- 
ing his  first  ajjpearance  on  any  stage)  ;  A^ere.s.s'rt,  Miss 
Palmer;  Jesica  (her  first  ap[)earance  on  any  stage). 
Miss  Ilallam  ;  Portia,  ]\Irs.  Ilallani.  The  cast  for 
"Lethe"  was  as  follows  (the  Tailor  ha\ing  beei^cut 
out,  and  the  [)art  of  Lord  CJialkstoii  not  having  been 
written  into  the  fai'ce  at  thet-ini«'  ihc  Hallam  company 
left  pjigland):  Exop,  Mi-.  Clarkson;  Old  Man,  Mr. 
Malone ;  Fine  Gentleman,  Mr.  Singleton ;  French- 
man, Mr.  Kigby  ;  Charon,  Mr.  Ilcrbort  ;  Mercury, 
Mr.  Adcock  ;  Drunken  Man  and  Tattoo,  Mr.  Ilallam  ; 


THE    AMERICAN    THEATRE.  39 

John,  Mr.  Wignel ;    Mrs.  Tattoo,  Miss  Palmer  ;  Fine 
Lady,  Mrs.  Hnlhim. 

The  Williamsburg  theatre  was  a  very  rude  structure, 
and  so  near  the  woods  that  the  manager  could,  as  he 
often  did,  stand  in  the  back  door  of  the  building;  and 
shoot  pigeons  for  his  dinner.  Still  the  company  re- 
mained here  for  a  long  time  and  met  with  much  sucess. 
The  house  was  finally  destroyed  by  fire  and  the  company 
removed  to  Annapolis,  where  a  substantial  building 
was  converted  to  their  use  and  where  they  remained 
with  fortune  -favoring  them  until  they  got  ready  to  go 
to  New  York.  This  they  did  in  1753,  opening  a 
theatre  in  the  metropolis  on  September  17th,  that  on 
Nassau  Street,  in  a  building  afterwards  occupied  by 
the  old  Dutch  Church.  The  bill  for  the  first  nig-ht  was 
"  The  Conscious  Lovers"  and  the  ballad-farce  "  Damon 
and  Phillida. ' '  But  three  performances  were  given  each 
week  —  on  Mondays,  "Wednesdays,  and  Fridays  —  and 
this  continued  to  be  the  rule  up  to  the  beginning  of 
the  present  century.  The  price  of  admission  was 
eight  shillings  to  the  boxes,  six  shillings  to  the  pit  and 
throe  shillings  to  the  gallery.  This  was  on  the  first 
night,  but  the  second  night  the  prices  were  lowered  to 
six  shillings,  five  shillings,  and  three  shillings  for  boxes, 
pit,  and  gallery  respectively,  and  by  the  middle  of  Octo- 
ber a  fourth  reduction  was  made,  so  that  admission  to 
the  pit  could  be  had  for  four  shillings  and  to  the  gallery 
fortwo  shillings.  The  performance  began  atsix  o'clock, 
and  on  the  bill  for  the  opening  night  appears 
a  request  that  ladies  and  gentlemen  will  come 
to  the  theatre  in  time,  and  a  statement  that  nothing 
under  the  full  price  will  be  taken  during  the  en- 
tire performance.  This  seems  to  be  a  departure  from 
the  custom  of  the  mother  country,  where  half  price 
was  received  for  admission  after  the  third  act.  The 
Nassau   Street   theatre    was  closed  on  the  evening;  of 


40  THE    AMEKICAJf   THEATRE. 

March  18,  1754,  with  "  The  Beggars'  Opera"  and 
"The  Devil  to  Pay.'" 

While  the  company  was  still  in  New  York,  ]\Ianager 
Hallani  was  endeavoring  to  come  to  terms  with  the 
Quakers  of  Philadelphia,  who  strenuously  objected  to 
having  })layers  in  their  midst,  or  to  allowing  stage  repre- 
sentations in  their  city.  Mr.  Malone,  a  meml)er  of  the 
company,  was  at  length  sent  on  to  the  Quaker  City,  as 
Hallam's  ambassador,  and  after  considerable  trouble 
succeeded  in  obtaining  Gov.  Hamilton's  permission  to 
present  twenty-four  plays  and  their  attendant  farces 
provided  there  was  nothing  indecent  or  innnoral  in 
them.  In  April,  1754  the  company  gave  its  first  per- 
formance in  Philadelphia,  playing  the  tragedy  of  "  The 
Fair  Penitent, "  and  the  farce,  "  Miss  in  Iler  Teens." 
The  building  occupied  by  the  actors  is  designated  by 
William  Dunlap,  the  historian  of  the  early  American 
theatre,  as  "  the  store-house  of  a  Mr.  Plumstead,  "  and 
was  situated  "  on  the  corner  of  the  first  alley  above  Pine 
Street."  After  the  twenty-four  performances  had 
been  given  by  *' authority  of  his  excellency,"  Gov. 
Hamilton,  the  players  were  allowed  to  add  six  more 
nights,  after  which  they  returned  to  New  York.  Here 
they  erected  a  theatre  on  Crugcr's  wharf,  between 
Old  Slip  and  ColTee  House  Slip,  and  prospered. 

Boston  did  not  have  a  theatre  until  171)2,  and  then 
got  its  first  place  of  amusement  only  because  Wignell 
and  three  other  members  of  Hallam's  company,  for 
some  reason  or  other,  seceded  from  it.  The  secoders 
brought  to  their  standard  some  money  men  of  the  Hub, 
aljuilding  was  erected,  and  on  August  10,  1792,  the 
first  show  was  given  ;  feats  on  the  tight  rope  and  acro- 
batic and  other  artists  contributing  to  Ihe  entcrtainmont. 
Five  years  later  New  York  had  two  theatres,  one  on 
the  Johns,  and  the  other  on  Greenwich  Street,  and  when 
the  nineteenth  century  l)eg;ni,  amusements  were  in   a 


THE    AMERICAN    THEATRE.  41 

flourishing  condition  in  all  the  large  cities  of  the  coun- 
try, and  the  theatre  had  taken  firm  root  and  gave  full 
promise  of  its  present  jDrosperity  in  the  New  World. 

They  were  a  queer  band,  these  early   strollers   on 
American  soil.     It  reads  like  a  romance  to  follow  them 
through  the   history  of  their  early   struggles,  and  to 
scrutinize  the  personal  peculiarties  of  the  individuals 
who  composed  the  company.     One  of  them  —  I  forget 
which   at  the  present  moment  —  was   an  imaginative 
fellow  given  up  to  all  sorts  of  schemes  and  inventions, 
and  published  far  and  wide  the  announcement  that  he 
had  discovered  a  process  of  manufacturing  salt  from 
sea  water.     A  member  of  one   of  the  earliest   orches- 
tras —  a  short  time  after  Hallam  had  ceased  furnishing 
music  to  his  audience  with  **  one  Mr.  Pelham  and  his 
harpischord  "  or  the  single  fiddle  of  a  Mr.  Hewlett  — 
had  been  a  Catholic  priest  in   Switzerland,   and  had 
suffered  the  tortures  of  the  Inquisition.     He  told  his 
story  to  his  manager  one  day  and  it  was  really  touch- 
ins:.     His  mother,  he  said,  had   dedicated  him   in  his 
infancy    to   the    priesthood.     When     he   became    old 
enough  he     was   placed  in    a    theological    seminary, 
instructed  and  duly  ordained.     He   was  a  priest  when 
Spain  went  to  war  against  France.     His  canton  raised 
a  regiment,  and  the  priest  being  made  its  chaplain  ac- 
companied it  to  Madrid.     In   Madrid    he  for  the  first 
time   learned  to  love.     He   met  in  the  street  a  hand- 
some  Spanish  lady  who  won  his  heart  and  lit  the  fire 
of  passion  in  his  frame.     He  became   acquainted  with 
her,  and  ascertained  that  the  lady  reciprocated  his  af- 
fection.    There  were  many  moments  of  stolen  pleasure, 
nuiny  sighs  and  vows,  until  they  finally  agreed  to  flee 
together    to     America.     The    day    and      hour    were 
agreed  upon,  and  the  lovers  were  in  readiness,  when  a 
strong  hand  was  laid  upon  the  recreant  priest's  shoulder 
and  he  was  thrown  into  prison.     He  realized  his  awful 


42  THE    AMERICAN   THEATRE. 

position  at  once,  knowing  that  lie  was  in  the  power  of 
that  monster,  the  Inquisition.  For  weeks  he  remained 
chained  to  the  floor  of  his  cell.  Once  he  was  led  out  to 
execution,  but  by  some  miracle  or  accident,  was  saved. 
At  last,  having  suft'ered  severely,  he  was  put  to  the  tor- 
ture, and  weak,  dying,  and  distracted  was  led  to  the 
gate  of  his  prison,  thrust  out  into  the  street,  and 
warned  as  he  valued  his  life  to  leave  Madrid  within  ten 
days.  It  is  needless  to  say  he  did  so,  and  never  learned 
or  saw  anything  more  of  his  Spanish  sweetheart. 

From  the  rude  and  uncomfortal)le  theatre  of  a  century 
affo,  with  dressing-rooms  under  the  stage,  and  but  a 
single  fiddle  or  harpsichord  player  for  the  orchestra, 
with  poorly  lighted  and  illy  ventilated  auditoriums, 
with  measfre  scenery  and  rairii:ed  wardrobes  — from  the 
primitive  theatre  of  the  New  World  has  grown  the  mag- 
nificent, symmetrical,  and  elegantly  ai)pointed  houses 
of  amusement  of  the  present  day  —  structures  beaut  i- 
fullv  and  chastely  ornamented  in  their  exteriors,  while 
their  interiors  have  received  the  most  delicate  touches 
of  the  artist's  brush  and  the  most  careful  attention 
from  the  upholsterer  —  beautiful  in  color  and  drapery, 
rich  in  furniture,  and  the  very  perfection  of  architec- 
tural desiirn.  Our  sta<;es  are  revelations  of  dramatic 
completeness,  sometimes  presenting  scenic  pictures 
that  challenjre  nature  itself  in  their  attractiveness,  and 
at  all  times  surrounding  the  actors  of  a  ])lay  with  ac- 
cessories gorgeous  and  extensive  enough  to  mystify  as 
well  as  delight  nine  out  of  every  ten  patrons  of  the 
theatre.  The  manner  in  wiiich  these  extraordinary 
and  pleasing  illusions  are  produced  is  one  of  the  great 
secrets  of  the  stage,  and  when  the  me(.-hanisni  cm- 
ployed  is  exi)lained  tiie  reader  will  be  surprised  to  learn 
how  simple  and  almost  midisguised  are  the  methods 
whereby  the  people  behind  the  scenes  work  and  multi- 
ply wonders. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


AT    THE    STAGE-DOOR. 


The  patrons  of  the  theatre  must  all  find  their  way 
into  the  house  through  the  front  doors  ;  only  the  priv- 
ileged few  are  allowed  access  to  the  mysteries  and 
wonders  of  the  stas^e  throuo;li  the  back  door.  Here 
stands  a  gentleman,  generally  of  repulsive  mien  and 
unattractive  manners,  whose  special  business  it  is  to 
see  that  nobody,  not  entitled  to  do  so,  penetrates  the 
sacred  ijrecincts,  and  who  learns  at  once  to  distinguish 
between  the  people  who  come  prj'ing  around  his  baili- 
wick merely  for  curiosity,  and  those  who  are  there  to 
"mash  "  a  susceptible  ballet  girl  or  perhaps  an  indiscreet 
member  of  the  company.  Those  who  are  led  to  the 
stage-door  by  curiosity  are  numerous  and  they  are  all 
promptly  repulsed  ;  and  the  "  mashers  "  who  stand  at 
the  stage-door  after  the  performance  is  over,  must  get 
into  the  good  graces  of  the  door-keeper,  and  retain  his 
friendship  if  they  desire  the  course  of  true  love  to  run 
smoother  than  the  old  adage  says  it  runs. 

In  the  large  theatres  of  Eastern  cities  the  cerberus 
who  guards  the  stage  entrance  generally  has  a  little 
sentry  box  just  inside  the  door,  with  a  window  cut  in 
it,  a  stove  placed  inside  in  cold  weather,  a  numl)er  of 
pigeon-holes  for  letters,  and  indeed  all  modern  con- 
veniences, as  the  saying  goes.  Here  he  sits  and 
smokes,  hailing  everybody  who  passes  in  and  saying  a 
kind  or  snarling  word  to  all  who  pass  out.     If  the  mail 

(43) 


44  AT   THE    STAGE-DOOK. 

has  brought  a  letter  for  any  member  of  the  company, 
or  a  "  masher  "  has  sent  one  of  the  gh'ls  a  dainty  lit- 
tle note  expressive  of  the  sentiment  that  is  swelling  in 
his  twenty-six-inch  bosom,  the  cerberus  will  have  it, 
and  will  hand  it  out  to  the  person  for  whom  it  is 
intended  with  an  appropriate  and  not  always  compli- 
mentary remark  about  it.  Sometimes  this  guardian 
of  the  theatric  arcana  will  take  advantage  of  his  posi- 
tion to  tyrranizc  over  the  ballet  girls  and  other  sul)or- 
diiiates  of  a  company,  and  will  rule  in  his  autocratic 
way  to  his  owu  pecuniary  and  other  profit.  In  the 
East  he  is  made  a  kind  of  time-keeiDcr,  notes  when 
the  performers  appear  for  duty  and  when  they  are 
absent,  besides  otherwise  making  himself  serviceal)le 
to  the  management  and  careful  of  the  interests  of  his 
house. 

A  story  is  told  about  one  of  them  —  I  think  his 
name  was  Bulkhead  —  who  was  employed  at  a  theatre 
where  the  ballet  was  large,  and  the  girls  paid  very 
liberal  tribute  to  him.  They  gave  him  silk  handker- 
chiefs of  the  prettiest  and  most  expensive  kind  to  wipe 
his  fantastic  mug  on  ;  they  paid  for  innumerable  hot 
drinks  with  which  ho  rounded  out  the  waist  of  his 
pantaloons  ;  they  dropped  cigars  into  his  always  out- 
stretched paw,  :ind  otherwise  drained  their  own 
resources  to  make  Mr,  Bulkhead  as  happy  and  coni- 
fortal)le  as  possil)lc.  He,  at  first,  took  whatever  was 
oflfered,  but  soon  grew  bold,  and  demanded  fifty  cents 
each  of  their  little  five  dollars  a  week,  every  salary 
day.  The  girls  made  up  their  minds  not  to  accede  to 
this  demand,  which  they  deemed  unjust  and  exorbitant  ; 
they  not  only  positively  refused  to  give  Bulkhead  any 
money,  but  would  give  him  nothing  else,  not  even  a 
two-cent  cigar.  As  a  result,  al)out  one-half  of  the  girls 
forfeited  a  portion  of  their  salaries  next  pay-day.     This 


AT  THE    STAGE-DOOR.  45 

aroused  nil  the  fury  there  was  in  the  entire  ballet,  and 
when  they  found  out,  too,  that  Bulkhead  had  driven 
away  their  male  admirers  they  were  as  wild  as  so  many 
hyenas.  It  did  not  take 'long  for  them  to  hit  upon  a 
means  of  wreaking  vengeance  upon  the  heartless  and 
unscrupulous  door-keeper.  They  clubbed  together 
what  change  they  had  and  got  Bulkhead  boiling 
drunk  ;  by  the  time  the  show  was  over  on  that  (to  him) 
memorable  night  he  did  not  know  which  way  to  look  for 
Sunday.  After  the  final  curtain  had  fallen  and  the 
lights  were  dimmed.  Bulkhead  sat  at  the  door  on  his  stool 
swaying  like  an  unsteady  church-steeple  and  snoring 
like  an  engine  when  its  boiler  is  nearly  empty.  The 
girls  2)icked  him  up  and  carried  him  into  a  remote 
corner  of  the  stage,  Avhere  they  piled  a  lot  of  old 
scenery  around  him  after  tying  his  hands  and  feet 
securely.  Then  they  got  red  and  blue  fire  ready,  al- 
most under  his  cherry  red  and  panting  nose  ;  one  of 
the  girls  took  her  position  at  the  thunder  drum ;  an- 
other had  hold  of  the  rain  wheel ;  another  was  at  the 
wind  machine  ;  a  fourth  got  a  big  brass  horn  out  of  the 
music  room  and  a  fifth  ffot  the  bass  drum  :  the  remain- 
der  stood  ready  to  lend  assistance  with  their  hands  and 
throats.  At  a  given  signal  the  thunder  rolled  louldly, 
the  wind  whistled  vigorusly,  the  rain  came  down  in  tor- 
rents, the  brass  horn  moaned  piteously,  the  bass  drum 
was  ])eaten  unmercifully,  and  pans  of  burning  blue 
and  red  fire  were  poked  through  crevices  in  the  piled- 
up  machinery  right  under  the  drunken  door-keeper's 
nostrils,  while  all  the  girls  shouted  at  the  tops  of  their, 
voices  and  clapped  as  enthusiastically  as  if  they  were 
applauding  a  favorite.  Bulkhead  after  opening  his  eyes 
and  having  his  ears  assailed  by  the  din,  shouted  wildly 
for  assistance  and  mercy  and  all  kinds  of  things  ;  but 
he  got  neither  assistance  nor  mercy.     The  racket  con- 

—  Seep.  18. 


46  AT   THE    STAGK-DOOR. 

tiiiued  for  nearly  ten  niinutcs  when  quiet  and  darkness 
were  restored,  and  the  girls  quietly  stole  away  leaving 
Bulkhead  alone  in  his  agony  under  the  pile  of  scenery, 
where  he  was  found  by  the  stage  carpenter  next  morn- 
ing, a  first-class,  doul)le-l)arrelled  case  of  jim-jams.  Ho 
is  now  ill  ail  insane  asylum,  and  employs  most  of  his 
time  telling  peo[)lc  that  notwithstanding  all  Bob  Inger- 
soU's  buncombe  and  blarney  there  must  be  a  hereafter, 
for  he  has  himself  been  throui^h  the  sunstroke  sec- 
tion  of  it. 

The  ballet  girls  of  another  theatre  played  an  equally 
effective  and  amusing  trick  npon  an  obnoxious  scene 
painter.  The  artist  had  been  in  the  habit  of  ])ainting 
2)osts,  doorsteps,  etc.,  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
stage-door  in  colors  that  were  not  readily  perceptible, 
and  when  the  young  ladies'  "mashes"  came  around 
after  the  performance  to  wait  lor  them  to  dress,  they 
innocently  sat  down  u[)on  or  Icaiicil  against  the  fresh 
paint  and  ruined  their  clothes.  Tiie  scene  painter  and 
his  friend  were  always  in  the  neiirlil)orhood  to  raise  a 
laugh  when  the  disaster  w^as  made  known,  and  the  re- 
sult was  that  the  gay  young  men  would  come 
near  the  stage-door  no  more,  and  that  the  sweetly 
susceptible  creature  known  as  the  ballet  girl  was 
obliged  to  go  home  alone,  sup[)erless.  Well,  one  day 
the  girls  found  the  artist  asleep  against  his  paint-table 
with  a  half  emi)ticd  [)itcher  of  beer  by  his  side.  This 
was  their  o[)portunity.  One  of  the  girls  who  was  of  a 
decorative  Oscar-Wilde-like  turn  of  iniiid  irot  a  small 
brush  while  another  held  the  colors,  and  in  ten  minutes 
they  had  that  man's  face  painted  so  th:it  he  would  pass 
for  a  whole  stock  of  scenery  ;  the  tattooed  Greek  was 
a  mere  five-cent  chronio  alongside  of  him,  and  a  Sioux 
Indi.'iii  with  forty  pounds  of  wni-p.iint  on  would  Ite  a 
ten-cent  side-show    beside  a  twelve-monster-shows-in- 


AT   THE    STAGE-DOOR. 


47 


one-iincler-a-single-canvas  exhibition.  In  this  ehiborate 
but  imdecorative  condition  the  scene  painter  wandered 
off  to  a  neio-hborino^  saloon,  the  Avonder  and  merriment 
of  all  who  saw  him.     He  did  not  understand  the  cause 


DECORATING    A    SCENE    I'AINTER. 


of  the  general  stare  and  unusual  laugh  at  him,  until  a 
too  sensitive  friend  took  him  to  a  mirror  and  showed 
him  his  frescoed  feature?.     Profanity    and  gnashing  of 


48  AT  THE   STAGE-DOOR. 

teeth  followed,  and  the  artist  was  prevented  from  going 
back  to  the  theatre  to  murder  ten  or  twelve  people 
only  by  a  thoughtful  policeman  who  picked  him  up  as 
he  flew  out  through  the  door  of  the  saloon,  and  carried 
him  oil'  to  the  calaboose.  He  was  sorry  when  he  got 
sol)er,  and  from  that  day  to  this  has  not  attempted  to 
i^aint  the  coat-tails  of  the  ballet  girls'  lovers. 

A  great  many  of  these  lovers,  as  they  are  designated, 
are  bold  and  heartless  wretches,  who  have  in  some 
way  or  other  obtained  an  introduction  to  or  scraped 
acquaintance  with  the  sometimes  fair  young  creatures 
who  till  in  tlie  crevices  and  chinks  of  a  play,  or  air 
their  limbs  in  the  labyrinths  of  a  march,  or  shake  them 
in  some  strange  and  fascinating  dance.  They  look  upon 
the  ballet  giil,  whether  she  be  a  dancer  or  merely  be- 
low the  line  of  utility,  as  legitimate  prey,  and  without 
the  slightest  scruple  will  waylay  or  spread  a  net  to 
catch  her  in  some  quiet  but  successful  manner.  They 
forget  that  many  girls  enter  the  theatre  with  the  in- 
tention of  making  honorable  and  honest  livinijs  :  that 
they  prize  their  virtue  as  highly  as  the  most  respected 
young  lady  who  moves  in  the  topmost  circles  of  the 
best  society,  and  that  the  theatrical  profession  is  only 
misrepresented  by  the  men  and  women  who  give 
themselves  up  to  debauchery,  and  allow  their  passions 
to  run  riot  to  such  an  extent  that  they  win  notoriety 
of  the  most  unsavory  and  unenvial)le  kind.  It  is  only 
because  the  stage  is  besieged  by  so  many  scoundrels 
and  villains  who  have  either  bought  or  begged  the 
privileges  of  the  l)ack  door  that  the  profession  is  dan- 
gerous to  young  and  innocent  girlhood.  The  stage 
itself  is  pure,  and  could  be  kept  so,  if  these  hangers-on 
were  only  done  away  with  and  the  j^outhful  student 
and  aspirant  for  histrionic  honors  were  allowed  to  pur- 
sue her  vocation  unassailed  by  the  handsome  tempters 
who  })egin  by  flattery  and  after  an  usually  easy  con- 


AT  THE    STAGE-DOOR.  49 

quest,  end  the  dream  of  love   by  rudely  casting  the 
fallen  s:h*l  aside  to  make  room  for  another  victim. 

Stand  here  in  the  shadow  awhile.     The  performance 
is  at  an  end,  and  the  gentlemen  who  haunt  the  stage- 
door  are  beginning  to  assemble.     There  are  probably 
a  half  dozen  of  them.     They  stand  around  sucking  the 
heads  of  their  canes  and  anxiously  awaiting  the  ap- 
pearance of  their  inamoratas.     A  burlesque  company 
has   the  theatre  this    week,  and    there  are   probably 
eighteen  or  twenty  handsome  young  ladies  in  the  com- 
bination.    Nearly  every  one  of  them  is  a  "  masher,'* 
and  can  be  depended  upon  to  hit  the  centre  of  a  weak 
male  heart,  with  an  arrow  from  her  beaming  eye,  at 
one    hundred  yards.      Some  of  them  have    received 
tender  notes   from  the  front  of  the  house  during  the 
night,  making  appointments  for  a  private  supper  at  one 
of  the    free    and  easy  restaurants  ;  others    have    met 
their  gentlemen  friends  before  and  can  depend  upon 
them  to  wait  at  the  stage-door  every  night.      Those 
who  send  the  notes  during  the  performance  are  of  what 
is  classed  as  the  ultra-cheeky  kind.     A  man  of  this 
class  will  do  anything  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  a 
ballet  or  chorus  girl.     I  knew  one,  one  night,  to  push 
a  dozen  different  notes  under  the  door  of  Eme  Eous- 
seau's  dressing-room,  which  opened  into  the  parquette, 
and  he  would  not  desist  until  Samuel    Colville,    the 
manager,  caused  him  to  be  dragged  out  of  the  theatre 
and  given  over  to  the  police.     Another  gentleman  of 
the  same  proclivities  having  failed  to  gain  Alice  Oates's 
attention  when  she  was  in  Chicago,  followed  her  to  St. 
Louis,  Cincinnati,  and  Louisville,  and  still  being  una- 
ble to  effect  a  proper  "  mash,"  endeavored  to  intro- 
duce himself  successfully  and  gain  her  favor  forever  bv 
making  her  a  present  of  a  pair  of  fast  horses.     Alice 

4 


50  AT    THE    STAGK-DOOR. 

very  sensibly  refused  to  accept  the  gift,  and  told  the 
fond  and  foolish  young  man  to  go  home  to  his  mother. 
Many  cases  of  this  kind  might  be  cited  to  show  how 
easily  the  women  who  enter  the  profession,  partly  for 
the  purpose  of  prostituting  their  art,  find  easy  conquest 
among  the  hair-brained  fellows   who  arc  oidy  too  will- 
ing to   be  captives  and  rarely  tr}^  to  break   the  fetters 
of  roses  with  which  they  find  themselves  ])Ound.     But 
keep  here  in  the  shadow  a  while  and  watch  the  manoeu- 
vres of  the  "mashers."     The  stage-door  opens  and 
out  comes  a  very  modest  little  girl.     She  does  not  be- 
long to  the  combination  playing  at  the  house  this  week, 
but  is  a  member  of  the  regular  ballet  of  the  theatre,  — 
one   of  the  few    poor    creatures   mIio  arc    obliged    to 
sret  into  ridiculous  costumes   of  enormous  dresses  or 
unpadded  tights,  to  increase  the  throng  of  court-ladies, 
the  number  of  pages,  or  add  to   the  proi)ortions  of  a 
crowd.     She  doegnot  dress  any  better  than  a  girl  who 
finds  employment  in  a  factory.     She  is  young,  however, 
and  stage-struck.     She   has  gone  into   the   profession, 
braving  all  its  danjjers  and  with  a  linn  resolution  to  iro 
unscathed  through  it,  carrvinir  with  her  a   sincere  love 
for   art    and    a   l)urning    desire    to    attain    eminence. 
But  alas  !   she  has  little  talent,  and  absolutely  no  jrc- 
nius.     This    can    be    seen    and    Mpjireciated     already, 
although  she  has  not  had  two  lines  to  speak  since  enter- 
ing tlie  theatre.     She  has  been  in  tlie  employ  of  the 
house  only  since  the  beginning  of   the  season.     The 
"  mashers  "  ])art  to  make  room  for   her  as  with   eyes 
cast  down  she  trips   along  tlie   street.      Some  of  them 
say  smart  and  pretty  things,  and   some   have  the   im- 
pudence to  raise  tiicir  hats  and    1)1(1   her  good-t'vening. 
She    pays  no    attention    to  tiiem,   however,  and   it  is 
probably  fortunate  that  the  tall  muscular  gentleman  in 
work-day  clothes  who-  has  had  a  pass  to  tiic  gallery  or 


AT   THE    STAGE-DOOR.  51 

may  not  have  been  in  the  theatre  at  all,  and  who  is 
waiting  a  block  below  to  escort  her  home,  does  not 
know  the  petty  insults  that  are  put  upon  her  or  the 
snares  that  beset  her  path.  Every  night  the  big  burly 
fellow  waits  for  the  modest  little  ballet  girl  to  see  her- 
home  in  safety.  The  girl  does  not  tell  them  at  home 
to  what  dangers  she  is  exposed,  and  they  never  learn 
until  sometime  the  fall  comes,  when  a  troupe  of  negro 
minstrels  or  a  large  comic  opera  chorus  invade  the 
house  and  lay  siege  to  the  hearts  of  all  the  females 
they  find  behind  the  scenes. 

Here  come  two  lauo-hing  blondes  through  the  stage 
door.  The  light  falling  upon  their  faces  shows  that 
although  they  try  to  appear  light  and  cheery,  there  is 
weariness  in  their  limbs  and  perhaps  distress  in  their 
hearts.  They  select  their  male  friends  at  once  ;  in- 
deed, the  latter  have  been  waiting  for  the  gay  bur- 
lesquers. 

"  Charley  dear,  I  didn't  see  you  in  front  to-night," 
says  one. 

"Neither  did  I,"  says  the  other ;  "  but  George  was 
there.  I  could  tell  him  by  his  red  eyes  and  cherry 
nose." 

"Yes,"  responds  Charley,  "there  was  too  much 
champagne  in  that  last  bottle,  and  I  didn't  care  about 
iretting  out  of  bed  until  half  an  hour  ao-o." 

'•'You  had  considerable  of  the  juicy  nnder  your 
vest,  last  night,"  the  first  girl  remarks  ;  and  then  there 
is  a  laugh,  and  Charley  says  he  feels  in  a  good  humor 
for  tackling  more  wine  at  that  particular  moment,  and 
the  quartette  move  off  to  a  hack-stand,  jump  into  an 
open  carriage  and  with  lots  of  laughter  the  party  are 
driven  away  to  some  suburban  garden  wdth  wine-room 
attachment,  or  to  some  urban  restaurant  where  wine 
may  flow  as  freely  as  morality  may  fade  away  with  the 


52  AT   THE    STAGE-DOOR. 

speeding  hours,  and  the  pleasure  may  hist  just  as 
long  as  the  restauranteur  thinks  he  is  being  well  paid 
for  the  privileges  of  his  establishment. 

Another  girl  conies  through  the  stage-door.  She  is 
probably  twenty-four  years  of  age,  is  tall,  handsome, 
and  most  attractive  in  her  manners.  There  is  the 
least  suspicion  of  the  matron  in  her  appearance,  that 
dignity  of  carriage  that  characterizes  women  after 
marriage  being  clearly  defined  in  her  motions.  She 
knows  somebody  has  been  waiting  for  her,  —  a  young 
fellow  as  tall,  handsome,  and  attractive  as  herself.  He 
sees  her  at  once  as  she  comes  out,  and  goes  to  meet 
her.  Her  footsteps  are  bent  in  his  direction  also.  As 
they  come  together  she  lays  her  hand  upon  his  ex- 
tended arm,  anil  says  ;  — 

"  No,  Fred,  I  cannot  go  to-night.  Sister  is  sick  at 
the  hotel,  and  the  baby  has  no  one  to  take  care  of  her. 
I  must  go  home  to  my  child." 

*'  Pshaw  !"  says  Fred,  ".I  had  everything  arranged 
for  an  elegant  drive  and  a  rattling  supper." 

"  I'm  so  sorry,  Fred  ;"  the  woman  pleads,  "  but  I 
can't  nio  to-niiiht.  You  Avill  have  to  excuse  me  this 
once.  You  know  it  was  daylight  when  we  parted  this 
morning." 

"  I  know,"  her  friend  insisted  ;  "  but  what's  the  use 
in  worrying  about  the  baby.  She's  propably  asleep 
now  and  won't  need  your  care.     Come,  go  along." 

*' No,  I  cannot.  I  will  not  to-night."  But  Fred 
continues  to  plead,  asking  the  pleasure  of  her  i)resencc 
at  a  supper,  just  for  a  half  hour  and  no  more.  Un- 
able to  resist  the  warmth  of  his  appeals,  she  at  last 
consents,  and  it  is  safe  to  say,  that  once  the  evening's 
entertaimnent  begins,  morning  breaks  upon  the  sleepy 
babe  and  sick  sister  at  the  hotel  before  Fred  and  his 
companion  are  ready  to  part. 


AT   THE   STAGE-DOOR.  53 

I  knew  a  friend  —  a  dramatic  writer  —  vvlio  stood  at 
the  back  door  one  night  and  waited  for  a  pair  of  pretty 
chorus  singers.  My  friend  had  another  friend  with 
him  —  a  prominent  merchant.  The  two  gay  and  giddy 
young  girls,  who  were  only  foolish  flirts,  did  not  kuow 
that  the  gentlemen  who  had  invited  them  to  a  midnight 
ride  and  a  late  supper  were  married.  Indeed,  they 
may  not  have  cared.  So  when  the  opera  of  "  Oli- 
vette "  was  over  and  the  pair  of  chorus  singers 
emero;ed  at  the  back  door  of  the  stao;e  and  found  the 
two  gentlemen  waiting  patiently  for  them,  the  girls 
each  gave  over  a  bundle  to  her  particular  friend  to 
have  him  carry  in  his  pocket  until  such  time  as  the 
quartette  got  ready  to  separate.  The  bundles  each 
contained  a  pair  of  pink  "  svmmetricals  "  — ■  padded 
tights.  The  young  ladies  informed  their  friends  of 
this  fact,  and  cautioned  them  to  be  sure  to  return  the 
bundles  before  leaving.  Well,  the  night  wore  on  joy- 
ously with  wine  and  singing  and  the  usual  pleasures  of 
a  late  drive.  At  last,  at  3  a.  m.,  the  girls  got  ready 
to  return  to  their  hotel.  They  were  driven  thither, 
and  the  entire  party  having  imbibed  more  wine  than 
was  necessary,  soft  and  sweet  adieus  were  so  tenderly 
spoken  that  nobody  thought  about  the  two  pairs  of 
pink  svmmetricals.  The  gentlemen  ordered  the  car- 
riage driver  to  speed  homeward  with  them,  and  he  did 
so.  First  the  dramatic  writer  disembarked  at  the  door 
of  his  residence,  ran  up  stairs,  pulled  off"  his  clothes, 
and  was  soon  sound  asleep.  The  merchant  was  soon 
at  his  own  door,  had  settled  with  the  driver  and  the  car- 
riage had  just  rolled  away  when,  as  he  was  fumbling 
at  the  latch-key  he  thought  of  the  pair  of  tights. 
With  one  bound  he  cleared  the  steps,  and  running 
into  the  street,  shouted  after  the  carriage.  The  driver 
heard  him,  stopped,  and  was  given  the  pair  of  tights  to 
take  around  to  the  chorus  girl's  hotel  that  day  and  a  $5 


54  AT   THE   STAGE-DOOR. 

bill  to  pocket  for  the  services.  It  was  a  narrow  escape 
for  the  merchant.  For  the  dramatic  writer  it  was  no 
escape  at  all.  He  was  rudely  awakened  at  ten  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  and  the  first  sight  that  met  his  eves 
was  his  infuriated  wife  holding  the  pair  of  pink  tights 
by  the  toes  and  stretching  them  out  so  that  the  sin  of 
the  husband  stood  revealed  to  him  in  all  its  fulness. 

"  Where  did  these  come  from?"  the  exasperated 
wife  shrieked,  flaunting  them  before  the  husband's 
eyes. 

"  Where  did  you  get  them?"  He  asked,  trembling, 
and  unable  to  think  of  any  good  excuse  to  make. 

"I  got  them  in  your  coat  pocket,"  his  spouse 
shouted,  piling  up  the  evidence  and  agony  in  a  way 
that  was  excruciating. 

*' By  jingo  !  is  that  so?"  exclaimed  the  husl)and, 
coming  suddenly  to  a  sitting  posture  in  bed,  and  bring- 
ing his  hands  together  vehemently.     "  Now,  I'll   bet 

$4  Charley ,"  giving  the  name  of  his  merchant 

friend,  put  them  there.  He  told  me  he  had  a  pair  that 
he  was  going  to  make  a  present  of  to  one  of  the  "  Oli- 
vette" girls  at  the " 

Brilliant  as  this  thought  was,  it  did  not  satisfy  the 
little  lady.  She  kept  uj)  the  argument  all  day,  and 
that  night  paid  a  \  isit  to  the  merchant's  wile,  where 
the  affair  got  into  such  a  tangle  that  the  two  husbands 
brought  in  a  bachelor  friend  to  shoulder  the  bhinie, 
and  who  made  the  excuse  that  the  whole  thing  was  a 
trick  pnt  up  by  a  few  gentlemen  (among  them  the 
bachelor  was  not)  on  the  dramatic  man  and  merchant 
to  get  them  into  domestic  trouble,  as  they  had  suc- 
ceeded in  doing,  beyond  their  most  sanguine  desires. 

And  now  that  we  have  been  long  enough  at  the  back 
door  of  the  theatre,  let  us  go  home  and  come  ai'ound 
to-morrow  night  to  have  a  view  of  the  plagues  and  au- 
noyances  to  be  found  before  the  foot-lights. 


CHAPTER  V. 


BEFORE    THE    FOOT-LIGHTS. 


There  are  people  who  patronize  the  theatre  who  do 
not  go  there  simply  to  see  the  play  or  to  be  pleased  by 
the  players,  and  whose  interest  in  the  stage  is  more 
than  double  discounted  by  the  interest  they  manifest  in 
and  towards  the  audience.  The  "masher"  makes  it 
a  market  in  wdiich  to  display  his  fascinations  and  call 
upon  the  susceptible  fraction  of  femininity  to  inspect 
and  avail  themselves  of  his  heart-breaking  and  soul- 
wasting  wares.  Whether  he  modestly  takes  his  stand 
in  the  rear  of  the  auditorium,  overcoat  on  arm  and 
stovepipe  hat  gracefully  poised  upon  the  thumb  of  his 
left  hand,  while,  with  polished  opera-glass,  he  sweeps 
the  sea  of  variegated  millinery  and  obtrusive-hued  cos- 
metics, or  bravely  hangs  up  his  charms  to  view  on  the 
front  row  of  the  dress  circle,  or  prominently  displays 
them  in  a  proscenium  box,  he  is  ever  the  same  offen- 
sive and  shameless  barber-and-tailor-shop  decoration, 
moved  by  a  wild  ambition  to  attract  and  hold  feminine 
attention,  and  always  attaining  to  a  degree  of  notoriety 
among  the  masculiue  theatre-goers  that  keeps  him 
overwhelmed  with  contempt,  and  causes  him  to  be  as 
readily  recognized  as  if  he  had  a  tag  tied  to  his  back  or 
spread  across  his  vest  front,  declaring  him  to  be  a 
fisher  after  femininity.  When  the  "masher"  takes 
the  shape  of  the  young  blood,  whose  short  and  tightly- 
fighting  coat  is  matched  by  the   shallowness   of  the 

(55) 


56 


BEFORE   TIIF   FOOT-LIGHTS. 


crown  of    his  stniight-brimmcd  hat,  and  whoso    eye- 
glasses straddle  his  nose  as  gracefully  as  his  twcnty- 

iive-cent  cane  is  carried 
in  his  hand,  and  this  ir- 
resistible combination  of 
attractions  is  thrust  n[)on 
the  audience  from  a  box 
opening,  the  acme  of  the 
nSv  ladv-killingart  is  reached 
and  if  all  the  world  does 
not  admire  the  effective 
tableau  it  must  be  l^e- 
cause  all  the  world  is 
unappreciative  and  the 
"  masher"  stands  on  an 
THE  "  MASHER."  jesthctic  plane  to  which 

the  rest  of  mankind  cannot  hope  to  aspire. 

But  the  "  masher  "  is  only  a  fraction  of  the  class  of 
amusement  patrons  to  which  attention  has  been  called 
in  the  opening  sentence  of  this  chapter.  Apart  from 
the  people  who  deem  it  their  duty  to  come  tramping 
into  the  theatre  while  the  performance  is  going  on, 
and  whose  coming  is  followed  by  a  triumphal  flourish 
of  banging  seats,  and  the  lieaving  footbeats  of  hurry- 
ing ushers,  to  the  intense  disgust  of  all  who  care  to 
hear  the  first  act  of  the  play,  there  are  others  who 
have  a  hundred  wa^'s  of  annoying  an  audience,  and 
who  make  a  very  efleclual  use  of  their  gifts  in  this 
direction.  Tiiere  is  the  member  of  the  "  i)rofesh,"  — 
the  gaseous  advance  agent,  or  the  bloviate  business 
manager,  the  actor  "  up  a  stump,"  or  the  "super" 
who  has  ])]aycd  the  part  of  a  silent  but  spectacular 
Victor  with  John  MeCiilIongh  or  Tom  Keenc,  and  who 
sits  in  the  rear  of  the  house,  but  sufKcienlly  for- 
ward to   be  distinctly  heard    by    people  in  the  dress 


BEFORE   THE   FOOT-LIGHTS.  57 

circle,  criticising  the  mannerisms  of  the  ladies  or 
gentlemen  on  the  stage  and  "guying"  everybody 
in  the  cast  from  the  star  down  to  the  frightened  and 
stiff-kneed  little  ballet  girl  whom  an  inscrutable  Provi- 
dence has  allowed  to  wander  in  upon  the  scene  occa- 
Bionally,  to  say,  "  Yes,  mum,  "or  "  No,  mum."  The 
leisurely  but  loud  professional  who  thus  disports  him- 
self must  necessarily  enjoy  a  large  share  of  the 
audience's  attention,  and  the  more  of  this  he  attracts 
the  more  he  is  encouraged  to  be  extravajjant  in  his 
criticisms  and  unreserved  in  his  elocution.  He  some- 
times must  dispute  the  title  to  obstreperous  obtrusive- 
ness  with  some  liquor-laden  auditor  who  has  succeeded 
in  passing  the  door-keeper  only  to  find  that  the  heat 
of  the  house  has  accelerated  his  inebriation  and  sfiven 
freedom  and  license  to  his  tongue  until  the  "  bouncer  " 
lifts  him  out  of  his  seat  by  the  collar  and  deposits  him  in 
a  reflective  and  emetic  mood  on  the  curbstone  in  front 
of  the  theatre.  Then,  too,  a  crowd  of  friends  sometimes 
get  together  in  the  parquette,  who  begin  a  conversation 
before  the  first  curtain  rises  and  keep  it  going  on  in 
careless  and  annoying  tones  until  the  final  flourish  of 
the  orchestra  arrives  with  the  dimmino;  of  the  liahts 
as  the  audience  files  out.  But  if  the  loud  members  of 
the  "  profesh,"  the  interjective  inebriate,  and  the  crowd 
of  communicative  friends  are  not  on  hand  to  furnish  di- 
version for  the  folks  who  are  trying  to  follow  what  is 
going  forward  on  the  stage,  there  is  one  other  never- 
failing  source  of  distraction  and  annoyance  —  the  giddy 
and  gushing  usher.  It  is  safe  to  bet  that  just  when  the 
most  pathetic  passage  of  a  play  is  reached,  or  the 
tragedian  is  singing  smallest,  a  few  ushers  will  throw 
themselves  hastily  together  in  the  lobby  and  hold  a 
mass  meeting  long  and  loud  enough  to  be  taken  for  a 
November  night  political  meeting,  if  there  were  only 


58  BEFORE   THE   FOOT-LIGIITS. 

a  sttikc  "vvairon  and  a  few  Chinese  lanterns  strewn 
around.  Indeed,  the  usher  seems  to  assume  that  he 
is  a  sort  of  safety-valve  through  which  a  disturbance 
must  break  out  now  and  then  to  offset  the  quiet  of  the 
audience.  If  the  usher  isn't  plying  his  fiendish  pro- 
clivity, some  bald-headed  man  in  the  parqucttc  is  sure 
to  throw  his  skating  rink  over  the  back  of  the  scat,  and, 
with  shinning  brow  turned  uj)  towards  the  suh-burnerin 
the  dome,  mouth  rounded  out  like  the  base  of  a  cupola 
and  uostrils  working  like  a  suction  pump,  his  beauti- 
ful snore  will  rise  above  the  wildest  roar  of  the  orches- 
tra and  drown  the  mellifluous  racket  of  the  big  bass 
drum,  until  some  friendly  hand  disturbs  the  dreamer, 
and  the  "  ov-<x-s-2:-s:-<x-iX-i^ !  "  that  rushes  up  his  nos- 
trils,  down  his  throat  and  out  through  his  ears,  is  thus 
gently  and  perhaps  only  temporarily  interrupted.  The 
enthusiast  —  the  man  who  is  carried  away  by  the  spirit 
of  the  scene  —  is  also  a  source  of  annoyance,  and 
when  he  signifies  from  the  balcony  his  willingness  to 
take  a  hand  in  what  is  being  enacted  on  the  stage, 
damning  the  villian  heartily,  and,  like  the  sailor  of 
old,  openly  sympathizing  with  femininity  in  distress, 
he  first  becomes  a  target  for  the  gallery  boys'  gutter- 
wit  and  finally  a  i)rey  to  the  inexorable  "  bouncer," 
who  roams  around  the  upper  tiers  of  every  theatre  and 
unceremoniously  dumps  disturbers  down  stairs.  Last, 
but  by  no  means  least,  in  the  distracting  and  disturb- 
ing features  at  theatrical  performances  is  the  pea- 
nut cruncher.  He  is  the  most  cold-blooded  and  least 
excusable  of  all  the  annoyances  with  which  amusement 
patrons  are  aftlicted.  He  wraps  his  teeth  around  the 
roasted  goober,  utterly  reckless  of  the  distress  he  is 
stirring  up  in  the  bosoms  of  those  around  him,  and  he 
grinds  and  smacks  and  continues  to  crunch,  stopping 
occasionally   to  charge  his  dental  quartz-crusher  anew, 


BEFORE   THE    FOOT-LIGHTS.  59 

and  always  beginning  on  the  latest  goober  with  the 
greatest  ferocity,  while  he  seems  to  make  it  go  ten 
times  further,  as  far  as  time  and  agony  are  concerned, 
than  any  of  its  predecessors.  All  the  other  disturb- 
ance consequent  npon  attending  a  play  are  petty, 
compared  with  peanut-crunching,  and  it  is  the  opinion 
of  the  writer  that  a  law  should  be  passed  at  once, 
making  it  a  felony  for  any  banana-stand  or  hand-cart 
man  to  sell  peanuts  to  citizens  who  are  on  their  way 
to  the  theatre.  If  such  a  law  were  passed,  and  if  it 
were  not  a  dead  letter,  the  people  whose  backbones 
feel  as  if  they  were  being  fondled  by  a  circular  saw 
every  time  they  hear  the  rustling  of  a  goober-shell, 
would  flop  right  down  an  their  knees  and  renew  their 
confidence  in  the  wisdom  of  Providence. 

The  young  men  and  the  old  men,  too,  who  go  out 
"  between  acts  "  to  hold  spirit  seances  with  neighbor- 
ing bar-keepers,  while  the  orchestra  is  playing  a  Strauss 
waltz  or  a  medley  of  comic  opera  numbers  for  the 
solace  of  the  lovely  ladies  they  have  left  behind  them, 
are  a  greater  nuisance  to  the  audience  of  a  first-class 
theatre  than  one  would  iraaijine.  In  nine  cases  out  of 
ten,  the  man  who  goes  out  to  see  another  man,  as  the 
saying  is,  has  his  seat  in  the  middle  of  a  row,  so  that  it 
is  necessary  for  him  to  make  trouble  for  ten  or  a 
dozen  persons  before  he  can  reach  the  aisle.  He 
tramples  on  ladies'  dresses,  comes  into  collision  with 
their  knees,  and  sends  a  thrill  of  pain  to  the  utmost 
ends  of  the  roots  of  every  man's  corn  he  treads  on. 
The  same  thing  is  repeated  on  the  way  back  to  his  seat, 
and  there  are  bitter  mutterin2:s,  a  great  deal  of  sub- 
dued  or  smothered  profanity,  and  fierce,  rebuking  looks 
flash  from  beneath  the  beautiful  bonnets  of  the  females. 
It  doesn't  seem  to  aflect  the  nuisance  any,  however,  for 
he  does  the  same  thing  over  every  act,  and  at  each  rep- 


60  BEFORE   THE   FOOT-LICIITS. 

etltion  increases  to  the  dumaijc  he  does  and  the  com- 
motion  he  creates.  Tiien,  to  make  bad  Avorso,  he 
manages  to  surround  himself  with  a  distillery  odor  that 
assails  feminine  nostrils  in  a  most  offensive  manner,  and 
that  will  not  suffer  itself  to  1)0  concealed  or  temi)ered 
hvthe  chewing  of  coffee-ground.s,  cloves,  or  oranj^e-Deel. 
I  "witnessed  the  discomfiture  of  a  young  man  of  this 
kind,  one  night,  and  the  scene  was  a  very  funny  one. 
lie  occupied  a  seat  in  the  orchestra,  in  the  centre  of  a 
row  of  seats  princi[)ally  filled  with  ladies.  As  the  cur- 
tain went  down  the  young  man  determined  to  go  over 
and  have  a  look  through  the  saloon  opposite.  Unwill- 
ing to  incommode  the  ladies  ia  the  least,  the  young 
man,  with  Chesterficldian  grace,  elevated  a  pedal  ex- 
tremity over  the  back  of  his  chair,  with  the  intention 
of  going  out  through  the  aisle  l)ehind.  Unfortunately 
he  stepped  between  the  seat  and  the  back,  the  in()val)le 
seat  flew  up,  and  the  thirsty  young  man  was  left  as- 
tride of  the  chair  in  a  decidedly  uncomfortable  posi- 
tion. By  this  time  the  gallery  gods  had  marked  him 
for  their  victim.  They  hooted,  whistled,  cat-called, 
and  made  slaniz;  remarks  about  straddlinof  the  "  rajjiifed 
edjje,"  to  his  evident  discomfiture.  In  vain  he  at- 
tem))ted  to  diseniraire  his  No.  lO's.  The  rest  of  the 
audience  became  interested,  and  opera-glasses  were 
directed  toward  the  blushing  young  man.  The 
feminine  jriirirlcs  in  his  neiijhhorhood  rendered  him 
frantic  ;  laughter  and  uproar  wcic  I)ec()ming  general, 
when  a  good-natured  individual  kindly  assi.sted  him  to 
escape  from  his  awkward  i)o.sition.  Amid  "  thunders 
of  applause"  ho  disapi)ear(!d. 

The  ladies,  too,  sometimes  contribute  largely  to  the 
annoyance  of  an  audience.  They  are,  as  everybody 
knows,  inveterate  talkers,  and  insist  on  saying  almost 
as   nmch    during  a   i)eifbrmancc  as    the  })laycrs    say. 


BEFORE    THE    FOOT-LIGHTS. 


61 


Their  criticism  of  the  toilets  of  friends  and  of  strans:- 
ers  also,  is  loud-sweeping  and  usually  denunciatory, 
and  they  have  a  style  of  pillorying  their  victims  in 
speech  that  is  decidedly  heartless,  yet  refreshing.  But 
all  the  faults  of  loud  and  untamed  talk  micfht  have 
been  forgiven  had  thej  not  introduced  the  tremendous 
big  hats  which 
rise  high  above 
their  heads  and 
stick  far  out 
from  their  ears 
c  o  m  p  1  c  t  c  1 3^^ 
shutting  off  a 
view  of  the 
stage  from  the 
persons  imme- 
diately in  the 
rear.  Strong 
men  have  shed 
tears  to  find  themselves  conquered  by  these  big  hats  ; 
they  have  tried  to  peep  around  them,  and  have  stood 
tip-toed  on  their  chairs  to  have  a  glance  over  the  tops 
of  the  millinery  structures,  but  in  vain.  The  hats 
were  too  much  for  them.  In  a  mild,  cesthetic  way  the 
ladies'  big  hats  rank  among  the  greatest  plagues  that 
have  ever  visited  the  modern  })lay-house. 

I  was  in  the  Grand  Opera  House  at  St.  Louis,  one 
evening,  sitting  in  seat  No.  3,  row  B,  centre  section, 
parquette  circle.  Before  the  play  began  two  ladies, 
one  dressed  in  black  silk  Avith  a  white  satin  jacket  and 
black  beaver  hat,  with  long  sweeping  feather,  and  the 
other  i)lainly  dressed  in  black  cashmere,  with  a  "  Sen- 
sation "  hat  and  tassel  on,  came  in  and  took  scats  1 
and  2  in  row  A,  same  section.  Prior  to  settling  ^own 
in  their  places,  they  looked  inquiringly  around  the  rear 


THE    BIG    HAT. 


62  BEFORE   THE   FOOT-LIGHTS. 

of  the  theatre,  one  remarking  to  the  other  as  they 
plumped  down  in  the  chairs,  "  I  suppose  they  haven't 
got  here  yet."  Seats  three  and  four  adjoining  them 
were  vacant.  The  hidies  had  come  unattended. 
After  they  liad  arranged  themselves  the  lady  with  the 
beaver  hat  drew  out  a  letter  and  held  it  ui)  to  the  liirht 
so  that  the  reporter  could  read  it.  It  had  a  cut  of  one 
of  the  principal  hotels  at  the  top  and  was  note-pajier 
from  that  establishment.     It  said  :  — 

To  Mamie  and  Sadie  :  Your  note  of  to-day  re- 
ceived. AVe  like  your  style  and  enclose  two  seats  for 
Grand  Opera  House  to-night,  where  we  hope  to  meet 
you  both  and  make  your  acquaintance. 

Yours  sincerely,  George  and  Harry. 

Just  as  the  orchestra  bes^an  t^io  overture  in  walked 
two  gentlemen  whom  the  usher  showed  to  the  vacant 
seats  in  row  A.  One  of  the  men  was  tall,  bald,  portly 
and  rather  good-looking  and  Avell  dressed  ;  he  had  a 
sandy  mustache,  and  what  hair  was  left  on  his  head 
was  reddish,  crisp,  and  curly.  He  was  probably  forty- 
five  years  old.  His  companion  was  probably  not  more 
than  twenty-one,  tall,  thin,  dark-complexioned,  with 
but  a  semblance  of  a  mustache.  The  ladies  smiled  as 
the  gentlemen  took  their  i:)laces.  The  men  looked  at 
each  other,  winked,  and  laughed.  When  the  two  were 
seated,  the  bald-headed  man  made  a  close  and  evi- 
dently satisfactory  scrutiny  of  the  ladies,  and  catching 
the  eye  of  the  one  in  the  beaver  hat,  the  two  exchanged 
smiles  —  not  broad,  committal  grins,  l)ut  soft  sjniles 
of  mutual  recognition.  The  second  lady  only  dared 
to  look  sideways  now  and  then.  The  second  gentle- 
man, who  sat  next  to  the  ladies,  was  rather  shy  and 
kept  his  hand  up  to  his  face  from  beginning  to  end  of 
the  play.     It  was  evident  this  was  the  first  time  the 


BEFORE    THE    FOOT-LIGHTS. 


63 


quartette  had  met,  and  it  was  evident  also  that  they  had 
made  up  their  minds  to  act  with  all  due  decorum  while 
in  the  theatre.     Smiles  were  now  and  then  exchanged, 
but  no  words  were   spoken.     Once  one  of  the  ladies 
sent  her  programme  to  the  bald  man,  who  had  none. 
During  the  third  act  of  the   play  the  baldhead  began 
writing    short  notes    which    the  lady    in   the    beaver 
hat  answered   affirmatively  with   a    nod   of  her  head. 
When    the    show    was     over    the    two    ladies    went 
around     one      street,     the     two     men     around     an- 
other, and    they  met    in    the     middle  of   the    block 
opposite    the    theatre.     There    was    a   brief    conver- 
sation in  which  a  great  deal  of  tittering  was  heard,  and 
then  the  quart-    • 
ette  proceeded 
to  a  quiet  res- 
taurant of  the 
most  question- 
able reputation 
and   took    one 
of  the  private 
supper-rooms, 
which    are    at 
the  disposal  of 
people    whose 
visit  to  the  es- 
tablishment is 
not   by  any 
means  for  the 
sole  purpose  of 
drinkino;   a  n  d 
eating,  but  has 
a  broad  and  very  unmistakable  suggestion  of  immor- 
ality in  it. 

The  key  to  the  whole  affair  can  be  found  in  the  fol- 


GEORGE  AND  HARRY. 


64 


BEFORE  THE   FOOT-LIGHTS. 


T.OlISi:    >I()NTA(JrE. 


lowing  advertisoniciit,  ])iil)Ii>Ii('il  in  tlio  GIohc-Democrat  of 
tlio  proccfliiiir  Sim<l;i\  :  — 


BEFORE   THE    FOOT-LIGHTS. 


65 


Personal. — Two  gentlemen  of  middle  age  and 
means  desire  to  become  acquainted  with  two  vivacious, 
fun-loving  young  ladies  who  like  to  go  to  the  theatre. 
Address  George  and  Harry,  this  office. 


MAUD   BRANSCOMB. 

George  and  Harry  had  received  an  answer  to  this 
advertisement  from  "Mamie  and  Sadie,"  and,  just  to 
Ineet  and  become  acquainted  with  them,  had  purchased 
the  four  seats  in  row  A,  centre  section.  Grand  Opera 


CG  BICFOKE    THK    FOOT-LICIITS. 

House,  making  the  tlieatrc  their  phicc  of  assignation. 
"  Mamie  and  Sadie  "  were  ])y  no  means  the  innocent 
and  unsopliisticated  creatures  they  seemed  to  be. 
One  of  them  was  the  wife  of  a  travelling  man  Avho  was 
necessarily  away  from  home  ten  months  in  a  year  ;  the 
other  was  nymph  dn  pave — a  street-walker  —  who 
scoured  the  i)rincipal  tiioroughfares  at  night  for  vic- 
tims to  carry  to  her  "  furnished  room,"  and  who  had 
been  educated  up  to  the  "personal"  racket  by  the 
lonely  and  wayward  young  wife  of  the  commercial 
drummer. 

So  much  for  the  noisy,  otherwise  obtrusive  phases 
of  the  subject.  The  ladies  who  go  to  the  theatre  to 
display  themselves,  to  flash  their  jewels  and  flaunt 
their  silks  and  laces  in  the  faces  of  the  community, 
have  become  so  accustomed  to  the  scneral  run  of 
theatrical  attractions  that  they  are  really  no  longer 
spectators,  and  may  be  justly  classed  among  the  dis- 
tractins:  agencies  in  the  audience.  Their  mission  is  a 
"  mashing"  one  to  a  certain  extent,  but  it  is  "  mash- 
injr  "  of  a  vain  and  bv  no  means  harmful  character. 
Other  ladies  are  seen  in  the  dress  circle  and  the  boxes 
who  do  not  disijuise  the  fact  that  they  have  come  to 
the  theatre  to  fascinate  the  too,  too  yielding  men.  At 
the  matinees  there  are  women  of  questional)le  repute 
who  unblushingly  advertise  their  calling  and  who  must 
bo  set  down  as  a  feature  most  objectionable  to  the 
respectable  portion  of  any  community.  They  behave 
themselves  as  far  as  words  or  actions  go,  but  their 
mere  presence  in  the  play-house  is  an  annoyance  that 
refined  and  elegant  i)eople  cannot  tolerate.  That  is  all 
about  them.  Now  for  the  very  worst  practices  that 
are  occasionally  noted  in  theatres,  and  that  the  mana- 
irers  know  verv  little  if  anything  al)OUt,  — the  women 
who  are  there  for  nefarious  purposes,  and  the  men  who 


BEFORE   THE    FOOT-LIGHTS.  67 

have  other  ideas  than  gratifying  their  vanity  or  merely 
making  heart-conquests.  It  is  a  notorious  and  flagrant 
fact  that  fast  women  use  the  theatre  as  phices  of  assig- 
nation, wherein  they  meet  old  and  make  new  acquaint- 
ances, and  it  is  equally  notorious  that  men  whose 
whole  energy  seems  bent  to  the  distruction  of  inno- 
cent girlhood  make  it  a  rendezvous  for  the  purpose  of 
selecting  and  snaring  their  victims. 

It  is  perfectly  safe  to  assume  that  the  cunning  and 
sinful  pair  fleeced  George  and  Harry  before  they  got 
through  with  them. 

The  very  same  evening  my  attention  was  called  by 
a  young  lady  to  a  thinly-bearded,  spectacled,  sickly- 
lookinof  middle-ao;ed  man  who  sat  in  the  next  seat  to 
the  lady,  and  who,  she  complained,  had  stepped  on  her 
foot  several  times  and  in  other  ways  tried  to  attract 
her  attention  and  get  her.  into  a  conversation.  I  at 
once  recognized  the  fellow  as  one  of  an  unscrupulous 
set  who  pored  over  big  ledgers  in  the  Court-House,  and 
gave  the  greater  portion  of  their  time  to  discussions 
concerning  female  friends  of  ill-repute,  and  to  boast- 
ing of  the  ruin  they  had  brought  or  were  about  to  bring 
to  some  innocent  young  girl. 

The  same  man  was  in  the  habit  of  buying  single 
seats  in  the  dress  circle  and  visited  the  theatre  fre- 
quently. He  represents  a  class  of  venerable,  but 
iniquitous  fellows  who  make  a  practice  of  mixing  in 
among  the  ladies,  in  the  hope  of  scraping  an  occa- 
sional acquaintance,  and  who  have  no  good  intention 
in  desiring  to  extend  the  circle  of  their  female  friends. 
They  should  be  kept  out  of  every  respectable  place  of 
amusement. 


(68) 


fcjELlNA    DOLAUO. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


BEHIND    THE    SCENES . 


My  first  experiences  behind  the  scenes  were  in  a 
smiili,  dark  celhir,  owned  hy  a  man  who  is  now  a  mem 
ber  of  the  Missouri  Legishiture,  and  where  daily  and 
nightly  a  select  company  of  would-be  Ethiopian  come- 
dians of  tender  age  gave  performances  to  small  crowds 
of  children  each  of  whom  had  paid  an  admission  fee  in 
pins  or  corks  —  for  we  valued  the  corks  highly  as  a 
necessary  portion  of  our  stock  in  trade  ;  we  charred 
many  a  one  to  blacken  our  faces  and  treasured  them  as 
if  they  were  worth  their  weight  in  gold.  Our  stage 
was  roughly  constructed  of  boards  laid  upon  barrels  ; 
bagging  material  hung  around  the  rear  and  sides  of 
the  stage  to  shut  in  the  mysteries  of  the  remarkable 
dressing-room  we  had,  and  an  old  gray  cloth  jind 
blanket  formed  the  curtain  which  parted  in  the  middle 
in  the  manner  of  the  stage  curtains  of  the  Elizabethan 
age.  Bits  of  candles  were  our  foot-lights  and  the  au- 
dience, made  up  of  boys  and  girls,  were  satisfied  to  sit 
for  hours  on  rude  benches  stretched  across  the  width 
of  the  cellar.  We  played  nothing  but  black-face 
pieces,  and  as  they  were  not  taken  from  books,  but 
were  the  memories  of  sketches  we  had  seen  in  some 
pretentious  theatrical  resort,  they  were,  of  course,  short 
and  entirely  crude.  No  member  of  that  little  band 
has  risen  to  greatness  in  the  theatrical  profession,  but 
I  think  every  one  of  them  now  living  looks  back 
fondly  to  the  triumphs  of  our  cellar  career.     To  me 

(69) 


70 


BEHIND    THE    SCENES. 


f 

that  rude  stage  and  its  gunny-bag  surroundings  were 
more  interesting  and  full  of  mystery  than  have  been  any 
of  the  wonderful  and  beautiful  temples  of  Thespis 
which  I  have  since  entered  ;  and  I  think  when  I  played 


JOHN    W.   M  CULLOLUII. 


the  part  of  Epliraim  in  some  hidicrous  sketch,  and  in 
response  to  the  okl  man's  cries  from  the  stage,  "  Epli- 
raim !  Kphraiiii  I  say  l)oy,  whar  is  you?"  and  I  got 
up  suddenly  in   the   rear  of  the  audience  and   shouted 


BEHIND    THE    SCENES.  71 

back,  "  Hyar  I  is,  boss!" — when  this  supreme  mo- 
ment arrived,  and  the  crowd  looked  back  surprised  and 
laughed,  the  glow  of  conscious  pride  and  artistic 
power  that  filled  my  heart  was  as  genuinely  agreeable 
as  the  thunders  of  applause  that  greet  Booth  or  John 
McCullough  when  their  admirers  call  them  before  the 
curtain  after  a  great  act. 

I  have  only  a  dim  recollection  of  my  first  introduc- 
tion to  the  professional  stage.  The  fiiiry  spectacle  of 
"  Cherry  and  Fair  Star"  was  running  at  a  local  theatre, 
with  EobertMc Wade,  of  recent  Rip  Van  Winkle  fame, 
and  Miss  Wallace  in  the  cast.  By  some  good  or  bad 
fortune'I  happened  to  be  loitering  in  the  neighborhood 
of  the  back  door  of  the  theatre,  when  the  captain  of 
the  supers  called  me  and  hired  me  at  twenty-five  cents 
a  night  to  go  on  as  imp  in  one  of  the  spectacular 
scenes.  I  was  on  hand  promptly,  and  shall  never 
forget  my  wonder  and  astonishment  at  getting  a  first 
glimpse  of  the  secfets  of  the  stage.  It  was  almost 
pitch  dark  when  the  back  door  was  entered,  and  there 
was  nothing  in  the  place  at  all  suo-orestive  of  the  o-lamour 
that  the  foot-lights  throw  upon  the  scene.  Huge  clouds 
of  black  canvas  rose  upon  all  sides,  and  men  and  boys 
in  the  dirtiest  of  workday  clothes  were  the  only  persons 
met.  The  noise  of  hammer  and  saw  rose  on  vari- 
ous sides,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  stage  had  not  been 
one-half  prepared  for  the  play  that  the  curtain  would 
ring  up  on  within  an  hour.  The  dressing-room  in  which 
fifty  or  sixty  boys  were  arraying  themselves  looked 
like  the  interior  of  a  costume  establishment  after  a 
cyclone  had  passed  through  it.  But  when  all  were 
dressed,  and  the  fairies  and  the  goblins  assembled  in 
the  "  Wings,"  and-the  foot-lights  were  turned  up  and 
the  orchestra  outside  was  rattlino;  throuoh  some  in- 
spiring  air,  the  small  boy  in  impish  raiment  was  im- 


72  BEIIIKD   THE   SCENEfl. 

mediately  wT.apt  into  a  seventh  heaven  of  dclijirht. 
There  was  a  multitiule  of  girls  in  very  low-necked  and 
short  dresses  with  jjlowino:  flesh-colored  ti2;hts   that 

DO  O 

seemed  such  inadequate  covering  for  the  rounded 
limbs  that  blushing  was  inevitable.  The  brijjht  colors 
in  their  cheeks,  the  blackly  outlined  eyes  and  the 
blonde  wijj^s  added  to  the  interest  of  the  new  charms. 
Every  bit  of  glorious  color  in  the  gorgeous  scenery  ap- 
peared to  flash  out  amid  the  flood  of  light.  I  ran 
against  every  variety  of  demon  that  was  ever  known 
to  jNI.  D.  Conway,  and  was  pushed  out  of  the  way  of  a 
hundred  persons  only  to  find  myself  obstructing  some- 
body else's  progress.  The  magnificent  revelations  of 
that  niffht  filled  me  with  awe  and  astonishment  for 
many  a  week  afterward.  It  was  the  only  night  I  ap- 
peared as  an  im[),  for  I  had  accepted  the  engagement 
without  parental  knowlege  or  consent,  and  when  they 
learned  of  my  success  they  at  once  put  a  decided  and 
impressive  veto  upon  any  further  eflbrts  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  professional  stage. 

That  first  experience  was  not,  of  course,  as  a1)un- 
dant  in  opportunities  for  ol)servation  as  later  experi- 
ences have  been.  The  world  behind  the  foot-liijhts  — 
the  mimic  world  as  it  is  called  —  is  a  realm  of  the 
most  startling  and  pleasing  kind.  Not  only  is  there 
food  for  wonder  in  what  the  eye  falls  upon,  but  the 
people  who  furnish  the  fun  for  the  world  are  often 
among  themselves  as  jirolific  of  pleasantry'  as  if  they 
expected  the  applause  of  a  full  house  to  follow  their 
jokes.  They  say  and  do  the  strangest  things,  and  for 
a  visitor  who  is  investigating  the  mysteries  of  their 
surroundings,  often  make  the  time  as  lively  and  the 
surroundings  as  enjoyable  as  it  i*  possible  for  really 
clever  and  good-natured  people  to  do.  The  best  time 
to  go  behind  the  scenes  is  during  the  engagement  of  a 


i'„l,lll,ll'  ,1' 1,1^1 


1 


BELLE    HOWITT    IN    "BLACK    CKOOK."  (  73J 


74  BEHIND   THE    SCENES. 

burlesque  or  comic  opera  company,  and  I  will  intro- 
duce the  reader  to  a  happy  crowd  of  this  kind  that  I 
•once  found  myself  in. 

In  1879  the  Kiralfys  brought  out  their  spectacular 
burlesque  entitled  "A  Trip  to  the  Moon,"  and  I  had 
the  pleasure,  during  its  run,  of  dropping  in  behind  the 
scenes  of  a  Western  theatre  one  night  to  have  a  peep  at 
the  pictures  there  presented.  Now,  the  moon  is 
something  like  two  hundred  and  eighty  thousand  miles 
from  here  —  that  is  the  one  reputed  to  be  made  of 
green  cheese,  and  having  phases  as  numerous  as  the 
occasions  that  ring  the  April  skies  with  rainbows. 
But  the  Kiralfys'  moon  Avas  in  another  firmament, 
shining  out  amid  stars  that,  when  they  wink  their 
twinkling  eyes  or  shuffle  their  shining  feet,  as  they  do 
frequently,  the  celestial  shiners  have  -got  to  put  on 
their  cloud  ulsters,  and  sit  down  while  the  lachrymose 
eyes  of  the  heavens  give  u[)  their  tears.  That  is  why 
it  was  raininix  torrents  the  niirht  I  went  hehind  the 
scenes  with  Mr.  Bolossy  Kiral fy.  As  I  went  in  the 
back  door  Prof.  3Iirroscope,  one  of  the  funny  charac- 
ters in  the  play,  brushed  by  with  a  telescope  under  his 
arm  that  was  large  enough  to  i)ut  Lord  Ross's  famous 
spy-glass  into  its  vest  pocket,  if  it  had  one.  The 
moon  to  which  the  trip  was  to  be  made  was  not  so  far 
as  two  hundred  and  eighty  thousand  miles  by  a  half 
block  or  so,  but  it  was  a  very  funny  world,  full  of  gas- 
light and  laughter,  and  with  the  most  mirthful  sports 
ima<rinablc  on  its  flowing  surface.  I  Avas  inclined 
somewhat  to  lunar  ways,  and  thinking  like  a  great 
many  other  credulous  mortals,  that  the  trans-atmo- 
spheric trip  was  really  made  in  a  cartridge-built  coach 
that  was  fired  out  of  a  huge  mortar  at  the  rate  of  al)out 
eighteen  thousand  six  Imndred  and  sixty-six  and  two- 
thirds  miles  a  minute,  had  fully  made  up  my  mind  to 


BEHIND    THE    SCENES.  75 

ride  on  the  roof  or  cow-catcher  of  the  concern,  at  what- 
ever risks  to  life  and  limb  space  might  abound  in,  I 
expected  to  find  something  like  a  solid  space-annihilat- 
ing Colnmbiad  behind  the  scenes,  but  I  was  somewhat 
mistaken. 

Just  before  the  curtain  was  rung  up  1  found  myself 
in  the  midst  of  the  fairy  world  upon  which  the  brilliancy 
of  the  foot-liirht  falls.  While  the  curtain  was  still  . 
down,  and  before  the  gasman  had  opened  the  flood- 
gates of  splendor,  the  place  was  dark  ;  not  pitch  dark, 
but  pretty  dark,  compared  with  the  brilliancy  that 
shown  in,  over,  and  around  its  space  a  few  minutes 
later.  And  then  its  intricacies,  pieces  of  scenery  here, 
various  properties  there,  and  sections  of  everything 
and  anything  scattered  anywhere  and  everywhere, 
made  a  fellow  feel  as  if  the  place  was  darker  than  it 
really  was.  Glittering  and  glowing  as  the  stage 
appears  before  the  foot-lights  ;  wonderfully  romantic  as 
are  its  shades  and  lights,  its  love  and  laughter ;  and 
astounding  as  are  its  scenic  effects  ;  its  area  and  sur- 
soundings  are  terriblv  realistic  when  the  foot-lights  are 
left  behind,  and  the  "  business  "  of  a  play  is  once  laid 
bare.  Here  the  sighs  of  love-sick  maidens  and  the 
spooning  of  gilt-edged  but  uncourageous  wooers,  the 
tears  of  injured  innocence  and  the  self-gratulations  of 
hard-hearted  villains  who  still  pursue  the  flying  female, 
the  prattle  of  young  mouths  and  the  mumblings  of 
"old  men"  and  "old  women,"  are  lost  with  the 
departed  scenes  of  the  play  in  the  unceasing  desire  of 
the  actors  to  get  back  into  their  proper  social  and 
friendly  relations  to  each  other,  and,  once  the  prompt- 
er's book  is  closed,  stage  talk  and  stage  manner  are 
under  metaphoric  lock  and  key,  and  romance  is  for  a 
while  at  an  end. 

On   opera  boufie  or  burlesque  nights,  however,  a 


76 


BEHIND    THE    SCENES. 


great  deal  of  the  stage  charm  clings  to  the  characters 
even  when  off  the  stage,  and  one  is  compelled  to  bo 
interested  in  the  grotcsqueness  of  those  to  be  met  in 
the  side  scenes  — the  odd  and  often  pretty  creatures 
who  stand,  sit,  lie  or  lean  around  in  the  "  wings"  at 


JNO.    A.    STEVENS. 


their  own  sweet  leisure  and  pleasure.  There  is  some- 
tliiiiir  so  indcscribablv  funny  in  the  costumes,  in  the 
facial  make-up,  and  all  that,  of  the  happy  opera-boufTor 
or  festive  burlescjucr,  that  the  eye  follows  a  quaint 
character  throujjh  the  scenes  with  the  same  inalienable 


BEHIND   THE    SCENES.  77 

interest  as  that  with  which  the  small  boy  hovers  around 
the  heels  of  an  Italian  with  a  hand-organ  and  a  monkey. 
The  eye,  however,  must  not,  cannot  linger  or  languish 
long  upon  a  single  one  of  these  walking  wardrobes. 
There  is  a  moving  panorama  constantly  in  front  of  the 
surprised  vision,  and  before  an  electric  flash  could 
photograph  one  single  individual  in  his  droll  toggery 
there  would  be  a  dozen  or  more  "  shassaying  "  before 
the  camera. 

There  was  leaning  against  one  of  the  "wings"  a 
naive  and  sprightly  piece  of  feminine  beauty,  set  ofi"  in 
the  handsomest  and  most  enticing  manner  in  the  world 
by  a  well-rounded,  gracefully  curved  pair  of  pink 
tights,  a  white  satin  surtout  and  mantelet,  plentifully 
besprent  with  glittering  braid  and  flashing  beads, 
dainty  silk  slippers  that  would  have  made  a  Chinese 
princess  weep  with  envy,  and  a  jaunty  white  hat  to 
match.  She  was,  of  course,  to  figure  as  the  charming 
little  hero  of  the  evening,  if  burlesques  can  be  said  to 
have  such  things  as  heroes.  A  doughty  old  chap, 
with  bristling  hair  and  a  porcupine  moustache, 
was  standing  by  talking  to  little  pink  tights.  He  was 
gotten  up  like  a  circus  poster  in  forty  colors,  with  a 
plentiful  array  of  red  on  his  head  and  legs  and  a  sort 
of  sickly-looking,  rainbow-sandwich  built  about  his 
body.  Red,  blue  and  black  streaks  straying  over  his 
features  made  it  appear  as  if  he  might  have  been  as- 
signed the  role  of  an  ogre  and  was  accustomed  to 
nightly  look  around  for  his  fair  companion  to  make  a 
meal  of  her.  I  immediately  made  friends  with  the  comic 
horror  and  the  little  lady  in  pink  tights  and  learned 
who  and  what  they  were.  The  latter  was  (in  the  play, 
of  course)  a  nobby  young  blood  known  as  Prince 
Caprice,  personated  by  Miss  Alice  Harrison  ;  the  red- 
legged  comedian  was  King  Pin,  the  young  Princess 


78  BEHIND   THE    SCENES. 

funny  father  and  Mr.  Louis  Harrison  was  hidden 
under  the  remarkable  royal  disguise. 

"  Well,  when  are  we  going  to  start  for  the  moon?" 
I  asked,  good-humoredly. 

•♦  In  a  few  fleetimc  moments,"  was  the  regal  douefh- 
belly's  reply. 

"And  are  all  these  folks  going  into  the  projectile?  " 
pointing  to  the  crowd  of  curious  characters  passing  and 
repassing  us. 

"  Not  if  the  court  knows  herself  and  she  thinks  she 
does,"  put  in  the  Prince,  pertly;  "only  the  King, 
Prof.  Microscope  and  m3'self  ride  in  the  cab." 

Prof.  Microscope  was  a  long,  scrawny  fellow.  lie 
was  twirlin£r  «i  shaijjTy  moustache  and  l)uzzin2:  a  hand- 
some  and  not  at  all  bashful  ballet  girl  at  the  same 
time,  a  short  distance  away.  lie  was  gotten  up  in  a 
blue-striped,  swallow-tail  coat,  long  enough,  if  the 
Professor  cared  about  lending  or  renting  it  out,  to  be 
used  for  a  streamer  on  the  City  ILiU  llagstafl',  and 
short  enough  in  the  back  to  have  the  waist-buttons 
constantly  challenging  the  collar  to  a  prize  light  or 
wrestling  match.  Very  tight  black  pants,  a  luxuri- 
antly frilled  shirt  front,  fluted  culTs,  and  white  hair 
allowed  to  grow  to  the  length  worn  by  Buffalo  Bill,  com- 
pleted his  outfit.  When  I  was  introduced  to  him,  the 
Professor  swore  ])y  the  bones  of  Copernicus' s  grand- 
mother on  a  volume  of  patent  offioe  reports  that  he 
was  the  sole  originator  and  engineer  of  the  only  direct 
moon  line,  and  he'd  bet  his  boots  or  cat  his  hat  that  it 
never  took  more  than  fifteen  minutes  to  make  the 
trip. 

"  You  see,"  said  King  Pin,  "  that  Microscope  is  a 
queer  fellow  —  not  a  coney  man,  you  mind." 

"Although,"  said  the  Prince,  "he  now  and  then 
casts  his  lot  on  the  turn  of  the  die." 


LILLIE  WEST, 


80  BEHIND    THE    SCENES. 

"Yes,  his  lot  of  last  year's  clothing,"  the  jolly 
King  remarked,  "  on  the  turn  of  the  dyer." 

This  ellbrt  resulted  in  six  of  the  supers,  who  were 
gotten  up  in  voluminous  dominoes  with  elaborate,  but 
inexpensive,  pasteboard  trimmings,  and  Avho  were  within 
hearing  distance,  falling  stiff  and  stark  to  the  stasre. 

"  Does  this  kind  of  thing  occur  often?  "  I  inquired. 

*'0h,"  growled  the  Professor^  "that  gag  was 
stuffed  and  on  exhibition  at  the  Centennial.  It  was 
found  in  an  Indian  mound  near  Memphis,  and  is  old." 

And  so  the  talk  went  on  for  a  while,  when  up  went 
the  curtain  and  King  7-*/?i  leaping  on  the  stage  amidst  the 
laughter  and  plaudits  of  the  house,  told  how  the  pretty 
Prince  Caprice  had  tired  of  mundane  things  and  was 
heavilv  siirhing  for  the  fountain-head  of  the  lambent 
silvery  moonlight.  Microscojje,  who  was  at  the  head 
of  the  Royal  College  of  Astronomers,  was  besought  to 
do  something  to  aid  the  Prince  in  accomplishing  the 
journey  to  jNIerrie  Moonland,  and  in  a  neat  speech  un- 
folded his  plans  for  a  grand  dynamo-etherial  line  that 
would  speedily  carry  the  Prince  to  the  wished-for 
happy  Land  of  Luna. 

Then  came  the  glorious  moment  when  the  flight 
moon  wards  was  to  be  made.  I  hurried  around  to  the 
prompter's  side  of  the  stage  where  I  saw  the  mouth  of 
the  huge  cannon  gaping,  and  got  there  as  they  were 
about  to  fire  it.  Imagine  my  surprise  to  find  the  extra- 
ordinary piece  of  ordnance  made  entirely  of  pasteboard, 
a  substance  that  a  few  grains  of  gunpowder  would  l)low 
into  as  many  pieces  as  the  leaves  of  Vallambrosia. 
Still  the  passengers  were  to  be  fired  out  of  this  con- 
trivance, and  I  felt  that  if  they  and  the  cannon  could 
stand  it,  it  was  none  of  my  business.  It  had  all  been 
explained  to  tlie  audience,  that  King  Pin,  Prince 
Cajjrice  and  Prof.  Microscope  were  the  on]y  three  jier- 


PAULINE    MARKHAM 


BEHIND    THE    SCENES.  81 

sons  to  be  given  seats  in  the  cartridge-cab  in  which  the 
wonderful  journey  was  to  be  made.  The  question 
therefore  naturally  arose,  what  was  to  become  of  the 
multitude  of  characters  that  crowded  the  "  wings." 
There  were  <'  supers  "  in  black,  yellow  and  mottled 
dominoes  with  high  papier-mache  casques,  and  huge 
ear-trimmings  that  reminded  one  of  the  flaps  that 
decorate  the  sides  of  a  Chicago  girl's  head,  or  the  sails 
of  a  lake  lumberman.  There  were  star-gazers  with 
zodiacal  garments  and  tin  telescopes,  all  set  ofi"  by 
great  pairs  of  soda-bottle-lens  eye-glasses,  that  gave 
them  the  air  of  a  Secchi,  or  somebody  else  of  astro- 
nomical aspect.  There  were  guards  who  shouldered 
tooth  brushes  made  entirely  of  wood,  with  index  hands 
surmounting  the  tops  of  their  chapeaux  and  serving  to 
indicate  that  their  intellects  had  gone  moon-hunting ; 
and  there  were  other  creatures,  among  them,  horrible 
genii,  who  started  for  the  moon  by  some  short  route 
across  lots  and  got  there  long  before  the  regular  ex- 
cursionists. 

But  the  corps  de  ballet !  It  was  everything  but  a 
beauty.  If  there  is  anything  likely  to  strike  a  theatre- 
goer as  ludicrous,  it  is  an  awkward  squad  of  over- 
grown girls,  with  gauze-garnished  limbs  and  dissipated- 
looking  blonde  wigs.  A  precocious  ballet-debutante  is  a 
bit  of  Dead-Sea  fruit  shot  backward  off  Terpischore's 
head,  and  if  the  bullet  does  not  lay  Terpsichore  her- 
self out  in  a  first-class  undertaker's  style  it  is  because 
Terpsichore  happens  to  be  in  terribly  good  luck. 
These  reflections  were  suggested  by  a  sight  of  the 
intermingling  danseuses  that  kept  pretty  well  in  the 
rear  of  the  stage.  You  could  tell  the  height  to  which 
each  one  could  safely  fling  her  foot  on  looking  at  her. 
The  girl  who  was  making  her  first  appearance  had  not 
yet  gotten  over  her  splayfootedness,  and  every  time 


82  BEHIND    THE    SCENES. 

she  took  :i  })cep  iit  the  audience  unci  l)eg;iii  to  realize 
the  airiness  of  her  costume  and  gawkiness  of  her  man- 
ners, her  knees  knocked  together  fast  enough  to  keep 
a  few  notes  ahead  of  her  chattering  teeth.  And  her 
dress  !  thei-e  was  nothing  marvellous  about  it  —  noth- 
ing  that  would  carry  a  person  off  into  the  ideal  linan- 
cial  realms  of  a  national  de])t.  It  was  powerfully 
plain  with  a  stiff  and  provoking  eflbrt  at  showiness. 
The  next  line,  who  also  may  be  classed  as  figurantes, 
are  plainly  to  be  distinguished  by  their  natty  air  of 
sauciness  and  a  noticeable -olipping-off  of  the  super- 
abundant clothing  that  encumbers  the  latest  additions 

CD 

to  the  corps.  The  coryphees,  though,  are  fadiant  in 
glittering,  close-fitting  silver  mail,  and  there  is  ac- 
quired grace  in  their  actions,  and  a  high  haughtiness 
in  the  toss  of  their  heads.  The  premieres  everybody 
understands  and  recognizes,  who  has  once  seen  them 
pirouette  on  their  toes  or  slam  around  in  a  wild 
ecstasy  of  dancing  delight  that  would  give  anybody 
else  a  vertigo  and  lead  to  numerous  and  possibly  se- 
rious dislocations.  Well,  all  these  were  whispering  or 
prattling  together,  in  the  way  of  the  scene-shifters, 
who  went  around  reckless  of  their  lano^uagc,  with 
sleeves  rolled  up  and  anxious  faces  and  questioning 
eyes  turned  upon  all  whom  they  encountered  there. 
It  struck  me,  as  I  gazed  upon  this  almost  naked  and 
highly  interesting  ballet,  that  if  the  moon  had  no 
atmosphere,  as  those  who  know  best  claim,  the  cos- 
tumes of  these  gay  and  giddy  girls  were  airy  enough 
to  stock  it  with  a  pretty  extensive  and  healthy  one. 
Out  of  this  ju!nble  of  scenery  and  from  tiie  midst  of 
these  jostling  characters  the  start  was  made  for  the 
moon.  There  was  no  carriage,  no  cartridge,  no  load 
in  the  cannon.  Her  tri|)  as  a  trip  was  a  most  undis- 
guised and  diaphanous  fraud.      \\'hile  Kiiuj  Pin,  the 


ADAH  ISAAC  MENKEN,  (83") 


84  BEHIND    THE    SCENES. 

Prince,  the  Professor,  and  the  rest  were  arr;in<nn<T 
themselves  in  a  happy  tableau  behind  the  second  "  flat  " 
bang  !  went  a  gnn  fired  by  one  of  the  supers,  across 
the  stage  flew  several  "  dnmniies  "  or  stufled  fiirures 
in  the  direction  of  the  roof,  the  scene  opened  and  lo 
the  jolly  crowd  were  in  Moonland.  King  Pin,  Prince 
Caprice  and  31icroscope  were  there  together,  as  fresh 
and  fair  as  if  they  were  accustomed  to  making  two- 
hundrcd-and-eighty-thousand-mile  trips.  The  mon- 
arch of  the  moon.  King  Kosmos  (W.  A.  Mestayer), 
after  having  summoned  his  retinue  of  Selenites — the 
same  long-robed,  i)illow-stomached  and  pasteboard- 
eared  crew  who  had  died  behind  the  scenes  a  few  min- 
utes before  from  an  over-stroke  of  punning -r- and 
having  things  explained  to  everybody's  satisfaction, 
came  forward  and  foil  on  the  several  necks  of  the  ter- 
restrial visitors,  was  punched  in  the  paunch,  by  the 
King,  enough  times  to  set  all  the  Moonites  into  roars 
of  laughter,  and  then  thoy  all  joined  in  stretching  their 
necks  and  rasping  their  throats  in  a  welcoming  chorus 

to  their  guests. 

It  was  unfortunate  for  the  visitors  that  King  Kostnon 

had  a  beautiful  little  princess  of  a  daughter  called 
Fantasia  (Miss  Gracie  Plaisted),  with  a  voice  that  rip- 
pled and  rolled  in  music,  earthly  as  the  bulbul's  notes 
and  celestial  as  the  songs  of  the  spheres  ;  and,  of  course, 
foolish  little  Caprice  had  to  go  and  fall  in  love  with 
her  and  sing  innumerable  sweet  songs  to  her,  all  of 
which  only  got  jioor  old  Pin  and  his  friends  into  all 
sorts  of  trouble.  1'his  they  finally  managed  to  get  out 
of  })y  returning  to  mother  earth  in  a  gorgeously-aj)- 
pointed  flying  ship,  as  grand  as  Clco[)ratra's  galley. 
Before  decamping,  however,  Moonland  was  visited  in 
every  part,  and  its  gardens  of  silver-tinged  foliage,  its 
crystal  palaces,  that  made  pale  Luna's  light  more  bril- 


BEHIND   THE   SCENES. 


85 


liant  still,  its  icy  mountains  with  m.ass  of  frostage, 
in  and  about  which  the  ballet  wound  in  the  graceful 
rhythm  of  "  Les  Flocons  de  Niege,"  were  all  taken  in, 


MILLIE    LA    FONTE. 

and  notwithstanding  an  occasional  hitch  in  getting  the 
panorama  around,  everything  in  this  new  and  gleaming 
sjihere  was  really  glorious  for  a  first-mght  visit. 


CHATTEK     VII. 


IN    THE    DRESSING-KOOM 


These  same  people  who  appear  grotesque,  and  out 
of  the  pah'  of  ordinary  cvcry-day  existence  on  the 
stanfe,  are  nearly  ahvays  the  most  unromantic  and  real  is- 
tic-looking  folks  in  the  world  when  you  meet  them  on 
the  street.  The  extraordinary  metamorphosis  they  go 
through  to  arrive  at  an  appearance  suital)le  for  pre- 
sentation before  the  foot-lisrhts  is  a  secret  of  the  dress- 
ing-rooiii.  In  the  privacy  of  this  carefully  guarded 
apartment  street  clothes  are  laid  aside,  and  what  is 
more  wonderful  still,  faces,  eyes,  and  hands  and  lower 
limbs,  too,  very  fre(|uently,  are  subjected  to  processes 
that  produce  the  most  remarkable  results.  Anybod}' 
who  has  seen  Nat  Goodwin,  of  "  Hobbies  "  reputation, 
will  readily  understand  that  it  takes  a  pretty  extensive 
tiansformation  to  change  his  appearance  from  that  of 
the  man  to  that  of  Prof.  Pi/(jin(dion  Wliijjles,  the 
eccentric  character  that  makes  "  Hobbies  "  the  laugh- 
able and  })0[)ular  i)lay  that  it  is.  Mr.  Goodwin  is 
young — not  more  than  twenty-four — but  I  saw  hiui 
slil)  out  of  liis  youthfulncss  into  llic  bald-headed,  red- 
wigged  and  merry  old  professor  one  night  in  almost  as 
short  a  time  as  it  takes  a  boy  to  fall  through  a  four- 
story  elevator  shaft.  I  accompanied  him  to  his  dress- 
ing-room one  night.  He  had  just  a  few  minutes  to  get 
ready,  and  was  in  })roper  shape  in  time  to  make  his 
appearance  at  the  upper  entrance,  amid  the  crash  that 
always  accompanies  his  first  appearance  in  the  play, 

(8(5) 


IN    THE    UKESSING-KOOM. 

■     ■  '     ■.■nlllllflH|l||P|,||l[j|||T^' 


87 
— 1 


BALLET    GIRLS    DRESSING-ROOM. 


and  gives  him  an  opportunity  to   make    some  remarks 
ohowt  Maj .  Bang' s  dog,  which  has  ripped  his  "ulster'* 


88  IN   THE   DRESSING-ROOM. 

up  the  back.  Well,  Goodwin  went  to  work  the 
moment  he  was  inside  the  door.  Oil'  came  the  every- 
day clothes,  and  in  a  jifly  on  went  the  one  white  and 
bhick  stocking  that  will  be  remembered  by  all  who 
have  seen  "  IIobl)ies."  The  shirt,  coat,  pantaloons, 
linen  duster  and  hat  that  forms  the  rest  of  his  toilet, 
were  carefully  laid  upon  a  side  table.  The  shirt  was 
flapped  over  his  head  in  a  second,  the  pantaloons  went 
on  like  lightninii'  and  then  bendins:  towards  a  looking- 
glass  he  dipped  his  fingers  in  red  and  black  color 
boxes,  and  soon  had  the  necessary  painting  done  upon 
his  face.  The  velvet  coat  followed  the  making-up  of 
the  lace  ;  then  the  torn  linen  duster,  finally  the  red  wig 
with  its  charming  bald  "spot,  was  clapped  upon  his 
head  ;  the  white  hat  was  gracefully  tilted  over  it,  and 
with  a  call  to  the  man  who  pla^^ed  Arthur  Doveleigh 
for  his  cane  and  an  "  I'll  see  you  later  "  to  his  visitor, 
he  bounded  up  the  stairs,  and  the  next  moment,  as  I 
left  the  stage  door,  I  could  hear  the  hand-cla[)ping  and 
the  howls  of  delight  with  w-hich  a  crowded  house  was 
nrreetinff  their  favorite. 

The  great  value  of  the  art  of  making-up,  as  the 
preparation  for  participation  in  a  play  is  called,  both 
in  the  matter  of  painting  the  face  and  costuming,  will 
be  understood  when  the  story  told  l)y  Maze  Edwards, 
who  was  Edwin  Booth's  manairor  durini;  the  tour  of 
1881-2,  is  recited.  *  •  *  Xhe  company  got  to 
Watcrbury,  Connecticut,  ahead  of  tlKsir  baggage. 
When  the  hour  for  the  performance  arrived  the  bag- 
gage, consisting  of  all  their  costumes  and  parajjherna- 
lia  was  still  missing.  The  manager  was  in  a  terrible 
plight  ;  but  I  will  lot  him  tell  his  own  story  as  he  told 
it  to  a  newspaper  reporter  a  short  time  after  the  occur- 
rence. 

♦'  "When  I  found  the  baggage,  with  the  costumes, 


Iisr   THE   DRESSING-KOOM. 


89 


had  not  arrived,"  said  Edwards,  "  I  was  just  going  to 
throw  myself  into  the  river.  Tlien  I  thought  I  would 
go  and  tell  Mr.  Booth  about  it  and  bid  good-bye  to 
some  of  the  people  who  had  always  thought  a  good 
deal  of   me,  before    killing  myself.     To   my  astonish- 


EDWIN    BOOTH. 


ment  Mr.  Booth  took  it  as  coolly  as  you  would  take  an 
invitation  to  drink.  He  said,  inasmuch  as  the  people 
were  in  the  hall,  he  would  make  a  few  remarks  to  them 


90  IN   THE   DKESSIXG-ROOM. 

about  the  accident,  and  then  they   would  go   on  and 

play  three  acts   of  "  ILunlct  "  in  the  clothes  thev  had 

on.     And   so  it  was    fixed   up    that  way.     "Well,  the 

thoujrht  of  Hamlet  in   a  short-tailed    coat   and   liji^ht 

pants  almost  made  me  sick,  and  when  Mr.  Booth  came 

upon  the  stage,  looking   like   an   Episcopal    minister, 

with  a  Knight  Temi)lar's  cheese  knife  that   he    l)or- 

rowed,  I  couldn't   think  of  anything   but  Hamlet.     I 

forjTot   all  about  his  clothes,  and  I  believe  if  he  liad 

only  had  on  a  pair  of  sailor's  pants  and  a  red  llannel 

fireman's  shirt  that  the  people  would  only  have  seen 

Hamlet.     I  tell  you  he  is  the  greatest  actor  that  ever 

lived.     The    people    sat    perfectly    still,    and    seemed 

wraiiped  up  in  Booth.     That   is,  they  were  when  they 

did  not  look  at  the  other  fellows.     But  when  they  took 

Laertes,  with  a  short,  ham-fat  coat  on,  a  pair  of  lah- 

de-dah   pants   and  a  pan-cake  hat,  it  seemed   to  me  I 

could  hear  them  smile.     And  the  King,  HamleC s  BiQ,\)- 

fathcr,  he  was  a  siixht.     Ima<j^ine    a   kinij  with  a   cut- 

away  chcckei'ed  coat,  a  Pullman  car   blanket    thrown 

over  his  shoulder  for  a  robe,  and  a  leg  of  a  chair  for  a 

sceptre,  mashed  on  a  queen  Avith  a  travelling  dress  and 

a  gray  woollen  basque  with  buttons  on  it.     And  think 

of  Pokmins,  with  a  linen  duster  and  a  straw  hat  with  a 

blue  ril)bon  on.     Oh,  it  made  me  tired.      Ophelia  was 

all  right  enough.     She  had  on  some  crazy  clothes  that 

she  had  been  travelling  in,  and  we  got  some  straw  out 

of  a  barn  and  some  artificial   flowers   off  the  bonnets, 

and  she  i)ulled  through  pretty  well.     But  the  Ghost / 

You  would  have  died  to  have  seen  the  Ghost.     He  had 

on  one  of  those  long  hand-me-down  ulster  overcoats 

with  a  buckle  on  the  back  as  big  as  a  currycomb  and  the 

belt  was  hanging  down   on    both  sides.     The  boys  got 

him  a  green   mosqtiilo   l):ir  to  put  over   it,  and  with  a 

stuffed  club  for  a  sceptre,  he  fell  over  a  chair  and  then 


IN   THE   DRESSING-ROOM.  91 

came  on.  I  should  have  laughed  if  I  had  been  on  my 
death -bed  when  he  said  to  Hamlet,  '  I  am  thy  father's 
irhost !  '  He  looked  more  like  a  drummer  for  a  whole- 
sale  confectionery  house,  with  a  sort  of  tin  skimmer 


M  KEE    RANKIN. 


on  his  head,  and  I  believe  the  audience  would  have 
gone  wild  with  laughter  if  it  had  not  been  for  Mr. 
Bootli.  I  don't  believe  you  could  get  him  to  laugh  on 
the  stage  for  a  million  dollars.  He  just  looked  at  the 
Ghost  as  though  it  was  a  genuine  one,  and  the  audience 


92  IN   THE   DRESSING-ROOM. 

looked  at  Booth,  and  forgot  all  about  the  ulster  and 
the  Ghofifs  pants  being  rolled  up  at  the  bottom.  It 
was  probably  the  greatest  triumph  that  an  actor  ever 
had  for  ^Ir.  Booth  to  compel  the  vast  audience  to  for- 
get the  ludicrous  surroundings  and  think  only  of  the 
character  he  was  portraying.  I  wouldn't  have  missed 
the  night's  performance  for  a  thousand  dollars,  and 
when,  at  10  o'clock,  I  heard  the  boys  getting  the 
truidis  up-stairs,  I  was  almost  sorry.  The  last  two 
acts  were  played  with  the  costumes,  but  they  were  no 
better  performed  than  the  first.  Still,  I  think,  on  the 
whole,  I  had  rather  the  bairsffiojc  would  be  there.  It 
makes  a  manager  feel  better." 

In  the  olden  times,  and  in  the  days  of  the  early 
American  theatre,  the  dressing-rooms  Avere  beneath 
the  stage,  and  were  by  no  means  the  perfect  and  cozy 
places  that  are  to  be  found  in  existence  at  present. 
Ilodgkinson,  I  think  it  was,  who,  durnig  the  last  cen- 
tury l)uilt  the  first  theatre  having  dressing-rooms  above 
and  upon  the  stage.  Later  improvement  has  removed 
the  dressing-rooms,  in  first-class  houses,  entirely  from 
the  stage,  ample  and  neatly-furnished  rooms  being 
provided  in  adjoining  buildings.  This  change  has  been 
necessitated  by  the  demand  made  upon  theatrical  man- 
agers for  greater  stage  room  and  better  opportunities 
than  they  had  heretofore  in  keeping  uj)  with  the  grow- 
ing taste  for  extensive  scenic  representations  with 
magnificent  appointments.  The  star  of  a  company, 
male  or  female,  always  has  the  best  dressing-room  the 
establishment  affords,  and  it  is  generally  very  close  to 
the  green-room.  Minor  performers  share  their  rooms  ; 
and  the  captain  of  the  supers  usually  has  an  apart- 
ment beneath  the  stage  where  he  gathers  his  Roman 
mob,  or  marshals  his  mail-clad  but  awkward  squad  of 
warriors      ^o  better  burlesque  upon  this  ill-clothed, 


IN   THE    DKESSING-ROOM. 


93 


dirty-faced,  knock-kneed  and  ridiculous  theatrical  con- 
tingent has  ever  been  presented  either  in  type  or  on 
the  stage,  than  the  character  of  the  Roman  Lictor 
created  by  Louis  Harrison  in  San  Francisco,  and  after- 


THE    THREE    VILLAS. 


wards  relegated  to  another  performer  in  "  Photos." 
The  story  is  told  that  Harrison  having  been  cast  for 
the  part  of  a  lictor  in  a  tragedy  in  which  John   McCul- 


0-4  IN    Tilt:    DHESSINCJ-ROOM. 

lou«;h  took  the  leading  role,  ho  ^rcw  oflciulctl,  liavinir 
higher  aspirations  than  mere  utility  business,  and  de- 
termined to  make  the  part  funny  and,  if  possible,  spoil 
the  scene.  When  became  on  the  stage,  he  was  in  war- 
paint, his  face  strewn  with  gory  colors  and  interming- 
ling l)lack  ;  he  had  on  the  dirtiest  costume  he  conld 
find,  with  a  battered  rnsty  helmet,  and  carried  the 
insignia  of  his  office  so  awkwardly,  while  his  knees 
came  together  his  toes  turned  in,  and  liis  general  atti- 
tude was  that  of  a  man  in  the  third  week  of  a  hard 
spree.  lie  ])rought  the  house  down,  spoiled  the  play 
and  was  discharged  for  makini;  too  much  of  a  success 
of  the  part.  But  this  is  a  digression,  and  we  must 
hurry  back  to  the  dressing-room. 

The  most  difficult  part  of  the  actor's  work  prelim- 
inary to  going  on  the  stage  is  to  make-up  his  face. 
By  the  judicious  useof  powder  and  paint,  and  a  proper 
disposition  of  wigs,  beard,  etc.,  the  oldest  man  may 
be  made  to  assume  juvenility  and  the  youngest  to 
seem  to  bend  with  the  weight  of  years.  Wigs  are  to 
a  great  extent  reliable,  but  the  old  fashioned  false 
beard  is  clumsy  and  apt  to  make  the  wearer  feel  dis- 
satisfied with  himself  and  the  rest  of  the  world.  But 
the  old  fashioned  beard  is  going  out  of  style,  and  gray 
Avool  stuck  on  the  face  with  grease  is  generally  used. 
I  can  recall  vividly  how  a  beard  of  this  sort  worn  by 
poor  George  Conly,  the  basso,  while  singing  the  part 
of  Gaspard  in  "  The  Chimes  of  Normandy,"  while 
with  the  Emma  Al)l)ot  troupe  last  season,  struck  me 
as  the  perfection  of  deception.  It  always  requires  a 
dresser  to  put  on  one  of  these  l»eards  in  anything  like 
a  satisfactory  manner. 

An  old  actor  of  the  "  crushed  '"  type  who  has  l)een 
almost  forred  ofT  the  stage  and  into  running  a  dra- 
matic college,  by  the  young  and   pushing  eU'ment  in 


IN    THE    DRESSING-ROOM.  95 

the  profession,  in  an  interview  had  with  him  lately  in 
Philadelphia,  remarked,  as  he  looked  with  evident  in- 
terest upon  the  crowds  in  the  street :  "  I  like  to  study 
faces.  To  my  mind  it  is  the  most  absorbing  study  in 
the  world — that  of  men's  faces.  You  see,  the  thing 
has  more  interest  for  me  than  for  the  run  of  men  even 
in  my  profession,  because  I'm  an  enthusiast  in  a  cer- 
tain sense.  I  belong  to  the  times  when  the  study  and 
make-up  of  faces  was  mighty  important  in  the  theatri- 
cal line.  It  wasn't  such  a  longtime  ago,  either;  but 
the  times  have  changed  since  then,  until  now  there 
seems  to  be  almost  no  effort  at  all  to  make-up  and 
look  your  part. 

*'  It  must  be  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  make  up 
every  night." 

"  Oh,  but,  my  boy,  look  at  the  result !  Go  down  to 
the  theatre,  where  they  still  do  it,  and  if  only  five 
years  have  elapsed  between  the  acts,  see  how  it  is 
shown  on  every  face  on  the  stage." 

"  It  is  difficult  to  make-up  well,  is  it  not?'* 

"Well,  no,"  said  the  actor,  lighting  a  fresh  cigar 
and  assuming  a  more  confidential  pose,  "  the  rules 
are  simple  enough,  and  with  a  little  practice,  almost 
any  amateur  could  learn  to  make  up  artistically  if  he 
has  any  eye  for  eflect.  Some  parts,  like  Romeo, 
Charles  Surface,  Sidney  Darrell  or  Claude  Melnotte, 
require  very  little  make  up  for  a  young  and  good-look- 
ing actor.  The  face  and  neck  should  be  thoroughly 
covered  with  white  powder,  and  the  cheek  bones 
and  chin  lightly  touched  with  rouge,  which  should  not 
be  too  red.  Then,  as  the  lover  ought  to  look  handsome, 
he  should  draw  a  fine  black  line  under  his  lower  eye- 
lashes with  a  camel  hair  brush  and  burnt  umber. 
This  makes  the  eyes  brilliant.  I'm  sure  it  isn't  much 
trouble  to  make  up  that  way." 


96 


IN   THE    DUESSINO-KOOM. 


SAUAIi    litKMlAKUT. 

♦'  Otliur  cbunicters  are  luirdcr,  thou«,Mi?  " 
'1  Oh,   iinincasunibly   so.      But  to  niako  a  maturcr 
man,  like   Cusmo,  lar/o,    Merculio,  John  Midioay  or 


IN    THE    DRESSING-ROOM.  97 

Hawksley,  it  requires  only  a  little  more  work.  After 
the  actor  has  laid  on  his  powder  and  rouged  his  face 
pretty  heavily  —  for  men  are  commonly  rather  red- 
faced  —  he  must  take  his  brush  and  umber  and  trace 
some  lines  from  the  outer  corners  of  the  eyes,  and 
other  lines  down  toward  the  corners  of  the  mouth 
from  the  nose.  In  short,  he  must  make  the  '  crows  ' 
feet  that  are  visible  in  all  men  who  have  lived  over 
thirty  years  in  this  tantalizing  world  of  ours.  Then 
the  chin  should  be  touched  with  a  little  blue  powder, 
which  makes  it  look  as  if  recently  shaved.  These  pre- 
cautions will  make  the  most  juvenile  face  look  mature. 
If  he  has  to  go  further,  and  look  like  old  age,  as  in 
such  characters  as  Lear,  Vh'ginius,  —  for,  as  I  said 
before,  Virginius,  was  an  old  man,  —  Richelieu,  Sir 
Peter  Teazle,  and  so  on,  more  work  is  necessary. 
Heavy  false  eyebrows  must  be  pasted  on,  and  the  eye- 
hollow  darkened  and  fairly  crowded  with  lines. 
AVrinkles  must  be  painted  across  the  forehead,  furrows 
down  the  cheeks,  downward  lines  from  the  corners  of 
the  mouth,  and  (very  important)  three  or  four  heavy 
wrinkles  painted  around  the  neck  to  give  it  the  shriv- 
eled appearance  common  to  old  age.  The  hollow 
over  the  upper  lip  should  be  darkened,  and  also  the 
hollow  under  the  lower  lip.  This  gives  the  mouth 
the  pinched  and  toothless  look.  A  little  powdered 
antimony  on  the  cheeivs  makes  them  look  fallen  in  and 
shrunken.  Then  tone  the  face  down  with  a  delicate 
coating  of  pearl  powder,  and  you'll  have  as  old  a  look- 
ing man  as  you'd  care  to  see.". 

"How  does  it  feel?" 

"At  first  your  face  feels  tightened,  and  the  muscles 
don't  play  easily,  but  after  a  few  grimaces  it  comes  out 
all  right.  It's  a  great  relief  to  get  off,  however,  after 
three  hours'  work." 


98  IN    TJIK    UliESbl^G-KOOM, 

"  It  inust  cause  rather  inoiinirul  lorecasts  wIhmi  a 
man  looks  on  his  own  face  made  up  for  the  age  of, 
say,  eighty  years." 

*'  Not  so  bad  as  when  he  makes  up  for  a  corpse, 
however.  I'll  never  forget  the  first  glance  I  had  at 
my  face  after  it  had  been  made  up  for  GaMon  s  death 
scene,  Avhen  playing  the  "  Man  of  the  Iron  Mask,"  in 
'02.  It  positively  ai)[)alled  me,  sir,  and  I  lay  awake 
all  that  night  thinking  of  it,  and  dreamed  of  myself 
in  a  coffin  for  a  month  afterward." 

"  How  is  it  done?  " 

"  "Well,  it  varies  slightly.  You  see,  such  characters 
as  Lear,  Virginlus,  Werner,  and  Beverly  are  before 
the  audience  some  time  before  they  actually  die,  and 
therefore,  their  faces  cannot  be  made  very  corpse-like  ; 
but  Mathias  in  'The  Bells,'  Louis  ^I.,  Gaston  and 
Danny  Mann  are  discovered  dying  when  the  scene 
opens,  or  are  brought  in  dead,  so  that  their  faces  can 
be  made  extreme.  For  the  last  series  the  face  and 
neck  should  be  spread  with  prepared  pink  to  give  it  a 
livid  hue  in  places.  Then  put  a  deep  shading  of  pow- 
dered antimony  under  the  eyebrows  and  well  into  the 
hollow  of  the  eye,  on  the  cheeks,  throat  and  temples. 
This  is  very  effective,  as  it  gives  the  face  that  dread- 
fully sunken  appearance  as  in  death."  The  sides  of  the 
nose  and  even  the  upper  li[)  should  also  be  darkened, 
and  the  lips  powdered  blue.  Then  the  face  will  look 
about  as  dead  as  it  would  three  hours  after  a  real 
death." 

"  In  the  make  up  of  grotesque  faces  do  they  use 
false  noses  and  chins?" 

♦*  Very  rarely.  Usually  the  method  is  to  stick  some 
wool  on  the  nose  with  a  gum  and  mold  it  in  whatever 
shape  you  will  ;  then  powder  and  paint  it  us  you  would 
the  n:itui;il  nose  for  grotesipic  or  comedy  parts.     Paste 


THE    LATE    ADELAIDE    NEILSON. 


(99) 


100  TX    THE    PRKSSING-KOOM. 

i.s  put  oil  with  gum,  instead  ol"  wool,  sometimes. 
Clowns  have  to  encase  themselves  fairly  with  whitinj^, 
and  they  lind  this  trouble  enough  without  l)uilding  u[) 
noses  or  cheeks.  Grotesque  artists  have  to  work  hard 
with  their  faces  as  a  rule,  but  they  are  often  repaid  by 
discovering  neat  points.  Many  of  our  l)est  Dutcii 
and  Irish  comedians  owe  their  first  lift  to  a  lucky 
make-up." 

*'  I  suppose  there  are  types  of  the  representation  of 
different  nationalities?  " 

"Well,  a  gentleman  is  usually  made-up  the  same, 
no  matter  where  he  may  be  supposed  to  l)el()ng,  but 
the  caricature  is  usually  one  of  the  well-known  make- 
ups. A  Frenchman  has  to  be  powdered  with  dark 
rouge,  and  has  his  eyebrows  blackened  with  dark  ink. 
All  dark  characters,  as  mulattoes,  Creoles,  Spaniards, 
and  so  on,  are  done  with  whiting  and  dark  rouge,  with 
plenty  of  burnt  cork  and  umber." 

"  Is  much  Avork  necessary  on  the  hands?  " 
"  In  witches  it  is  of  great  importance  that  the  hands 
and  arms  should  be  skinny  and  l)ony.     This  is  usually 
done  by  a  liberal  powdering  of  Dutch  piidv,  and  })aint- 
ine:  between  the   knuckles  with  burnt  umber.      Paint- 
ing  ])etween  the  knuckles,  you  see,  makes  them  look 
large   and  bony.      l>ut   this   sounds    a  good  deal    like 
ancient   history,  now,  does  it  not?     The  art  is  falling 
into  disuse,  my  boy,  and  I've  no  doubt,  the  time  is  not 
far  oil'   when    we    shall   have    youngsters    jdaying  old 
men  with  signs  on   their  baclv  reading,    '  Please,    sir, 
I'm  eighty  years  old,'  while  their  faces  are  as  fresh  as 
aisies. 
"To  what  do  you  attribute  this  tendency." 
"  Laziness.     The  theatrical  age  of  to-day  is  a  won- 
der to  me.     The  entire  profession  wants  to  star.     An 
actor  plays  old  men  now  simply  for  a  living,  while  he 


IN   THE    DRESSING-ROOM.  101 

matures  his  plans  for  his  coutemphited  starring  tour. 
An  actress  does  old  women  heavies  or  juveniles  only 
until  she  can  find  a  capitalist  who  will  enable  her  to 
star,  and  none  of  them  seem  to  take  any  pride  in  the 
minor  parts.  Hence,  they  don't  take  the  trouble  to 
makeup  artistically,  and  the  stage  is  robbed  of  its  chief 
charm  —  realism." 

The  looking-glass  and  the  pots  of  paint  and  boxes  of 
powder  upon  the  shelves  of  the  dressing-room  are  as  im- 
portant adjuncts  of  the  play,  and  even  more  important, 
sometimes,  than  the  huge  boxes  and  trunks  filled  with 
costumes  that  are  found  in  the  same  place.     They  hold 
their  place  amid  the  diamond  necklaces   and  brilliant 
bracelets  of  the  prima  donna,  the  cheaper  jewels  of  the 
dramatic  artiste  and  the  crowns  of  kino-s  and  helmets 
of  warriors.     Their  power  is  great,   and  that  power 
is  fully  recognized  by  all  who  are  within  the  domain 
of  dramatic  art.     And  the  actor  or  actress,  the  prima 
donna  and  the  swell  tenor,  all  generally  make  it  their 
business  to  attend  to  their  own  beautification  in  this 
way  themselves.     Nearly   all   star  actors   carry   male 
servants  who  are  known  as  dressers,. and  all  prominent 
actresses  have   nuiids  who    accompany    them    to  the 
theatre   and    these    help    to   complete     the     artiste's 
toilets.     Formerly    there    were     barbers     and    hair- 
dressers, as  well  as  other  specialists,  attached  to  places 
of  amusement,  and  whose  business  it  was  to  shave  an 
actor  or  dress  a  head  of  hair  before  the  performance. 
Many  establishments  retain  these  yet,  but  they  are  not 
as  numerous  or  as  well-known  as  they  were  before  the 
days  of  travelling  combinations.     Apropos  the  theat- 
rical hair  dresser  there  is  quite  an  interesting  story  told. 
One  of  this  class  fell  in  love  with  a  popular  actress  he 
was  frequently  called  upon  to  beautify.     He  confessed 
his  devouring  passion  on  his  knees  and  she  laughed 


ft  s 


■mj^ 


•^-_  .     / 


iVT>, 


(102) 


DKESSING   AN    ACTRESS     HAIR. 


IN   THE    DRESSING-ROOM.  103 

him  to  scorn.  More  than  tluit,  she  insisted  on  his 
continuing  his  ministrations  to  her  and  made  him  the 
butt  of  her  heartless  o-jbes  while  he  was  dcvotino;  him- 
self  to  enhance  her  cruel  loveliness.  The  iron  entered 
his  soul  and  he  swore  veno-eance.  One  niffht,  when 
he  had  to  prepare  her  for  a  most  important  part,  he 
surpassed  himself  in  the  splendor  of  her  crowning  dec- 
oration. Havinof  finished  he  anointed  her  jrolden  locks 
with  a  compound  of  a  peculiarly  fascinating  aromatic 
odor,  which  so  attracted  his  callous  enslaver's  notice 
that  she  asked  him  what  it  was. 

"  It  is  a  mixture  of  my  own,  Madame,"  he  replied. 
*'  I  call  it  the  last  breath  of  love." 

The  actress  remarked  that  she  would  call  him  a  fool, 
and  he  bowed  and  withdrew.  A  few  minutes  later, 
when  she  appeared  behind  the  footlights,  instead  of 
the  roar  of  applause  which  she  expected,  she  was 
hailed  with  a  tempestuous  scream  of  laughter.  Her 
discarded  lover  had  had  his  revenge.  He  had  dyed 
her  golden  locks  with  a  chemical  which  turned  pea 
green  as  soon  as  it  was  dry.  She  dresses  what  hair 
she  has  left  herself  now,  while  he  is  boss  of  a  five-cent 
shaving  emporium,  never  speaks  to  any  lady  but  his 
landlady,  and  has  a  Chinaman  to  do  his  washing. 

If  there  is  a  ballet  or  a  burlesque  crowd  or  comic 
opera  chorus  in  the  theatre  the  scenes  in  their  rooms 
will  be  of  a  more  diversified  nature.  •  The  o-irls  in 
addition  to  making  their  faces  pretty,  must  have  their 
limbs  so  shapely  that  no  fault  can  be  found  even  by 
the  most  cavilling  of  the  gentlemen  who  crowd  up 
behind  the  orchestra  while  the  house  holds  a  host 
of  female  attractions.  The  rage  for  limb  exhibitions 
rendered  it  necessary  that  some  means  should  be 
devised  to  hide  the  calves  or  poorly  turned  ankles  of 
the  creatures  whose  limbs  are  displayed.     HajDpily  the 


104  IN'   THE   DRESSING-ROOM. 

syiiinietricals,  us  padded  tights  are  called,  were  hit  upon 
and  now  you  cannot  find  an  unsightly  piece  of  under- 
pinning in  any  combination,  and  even  the  poor  ballet 
girl  who  does  page's  parts  or  helps  to  make  up  a  crowd 
for  $6  a  week,  will,  if  she  has  sense  and  taste,  go  early 
to  the  dealer  in  theatrical  goods  and  have  symmetri- 
cals  made  to  suit  the  exigencies  of  her  case.  These 
artistic  accessories  of  feminine  fictitiousness  are  leji^o^infjs 
or  tights  w^oven  in  such  a  manner  the  thickness  of  a 
deficient  thigh,  the  iiipe-stem  character  of  a  calf,  are 
filled  out  with  silk  and  cotton  into  shapefulncss  and 
beauty  that  Venus  de  Medici  herself  would  not  be 
ashamed  to  make  a  display  of.  I  heard  a  story  a])out 
an  operatic  artist  who  for  a  long  time  refused  to  play 
parts  demanding  the  exhibition  even  of  a  fraction  of  a 
limb,  and  all  because  her  lower  members  were  too 
attenuated  to  attract  anything  else  but  ridicule.  Lately 
she  has  found  her  way  to  the  pad-maker's  and  now  can 
present  as  pretty  an  ankle  and  as  round  a  calf  to  the 
audience  as  sister  artists  who  have  more  flesh  and 
blood  in  their  composition.  Men  as  well  as  women 
patronize  the  pad-maker  and  any  actor  of  the  mashing 
persuasion  who  may  have  had  to  keep  his  bandy  legs 
in  wide  pantaloons  heretofore  can  now  burst  forth 
upon  the  sight  of  his  adored  in  all  the  gorgeous  loveli- 
ness and  perfection  of  an  attractive  anatomy. 


MAKIE    KOZE. 


(105; 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


WITIIIX    TIIK    AVINGS. 


The   fjreen-voom,  except   Avherc  stock  companies  pre- 
vail —  and  there  are  not  more   than  three  or  four  in  tlic 


United   States  now  —  has  passed  out  of  the   shadow  of 
the  rigorous  rules  that  sometime  ago  were  posted  here, 
and  that   had  to  be  observed.     By  this  I   do  not  mean 
(100) 


WITHIN   THE    WINGS. 


107 


that  rules  have  boon  entirely  done  away  with  behind  the 
scenes  ;  but  travelling  companies  arc  governed  by  their 
own  rules,  carry  their  own  stage  manager,  prompter, 
etc.,  and  the  only  persons  that  local  green-room  rules 
could  apply  to  now-a-days  would  be  the  four  or  five 
poorly  paid  young  girls  who,  in  their  desire  to  go  on 
the  stage  and  become  stars,  start  and  generally  stay  at 
the  bottom  of  the  ladder,  whore  they  are  paid  pitiful 
salaries  and  continue  to  "mash"  wandering  minstrels, 
or  the  equally  poorly  paid  and  badly  treated  members 
of  some  male  chorus.  These  girls  usually  spend  the 
lengthy  leisure    a  performance  gives    them  sitting   de- 


A    GREEN-ROOM    TABLEAU. 

murely  on  chairs  in  the  corner  of  the  green-room  until 
the  call-boy  sends  them  word  that  they  are  needed  to 
fill  up  some  silent  gap  in  the  entertainment.  Beyond 
these  there  are  few  to  be  found  in  the  green-room  dur- 
ing a  performance.  Occasionally  an  actor  will  drop  in 
to  pace  the  floor  as  he  mumbles  his  lines  over,  or  an 
actress,  who  is  tired  from  standing  in  the  wings,  or  on 
the  stage,  will  hurry  in  and  drop  to  rest  on  the  sofa. 
The  side  scenes,  or  "  wings,"  as  they  are  termed,  are 
the  places  in  which  to  find  almost  everybody  who  has 
any    business    around    the  stage  of   a    theatre.     Under 


108  IN   THK   WINGS. 

the  stage,  in  a  "  nuisic-room,"  the  musicians  may  bo 
found  when  they  arc  not  harassing  the  audience  with 
some  unanimously  discordant  air. 

Gathered  together  in  the  entrances  and  within  easy 
call  of  the  prompter,  whose  business  it  has   recently 
become  to  mind    everyljod}'^   else's  business,  are   the 
performers,  male  and  female  mingling  together,  waiting 
for  their  cue  to  go  on.     The  absence  of  chairs  makes 
it  necessary  for  all  to  remain  on   their  feet,  and  only 
when   a  friendly  "  property  "    that  may  be  used  for 
sedentary  purposes  is  within  reach  will  a  weary  actor 
CXI"  actress  take  possession  of  it.     Enough  has  been 
said  already  about  the  general  aspect  of  affairs  l)chind 
the  scenes  and  the  groupings  in  the  green-room.     Now, 
let  us  turn  our  attention  to  sonic  of  the  individuals  and 
incidents   of  this  remarkable  little  world.     The  stage 
prompter  is,  probably,  as  inijiortant  a  gentleman  as  we 
could  first  run  against.     Tlie   pr()in[)ter  stands  at  his 
desk  at  one  side  of  the  stage,  with  a  book  of  the  play 
before  him  during  the   entire   performance.     It  is  his 
business  to  furnish  the  players  with  tiicir  lines  when 
memory   fails  'them.     lie  must  be  quick  to  give  the 
performer  the  exact  word  that  has  thrown  him  oflf  the 
track,  and  just  as  soon  as  an  actor  or  actress  looks  ap- 
pealingly  towards  liiin  he  knows  what  it  means  —  that 
the  performer  is  "  stuck"  —  and  he  must  run  to  their 
aid  at  once.     His  position  is  almost  as  responsible  as 
that  of  the  prompter    in    the   Japanese   theatre,  who 
goes  from  one  actor  to  the   other,  during  the   whole 
performance,  and,  with  a  lantern  i)laced  up  against  the 
play-book,  reads  off  tin;  lines  which  the  actor  is  ex- 
pected to  repeat.     lie  nmst   be  at  the  theatre  during 
the  morning  rehearsals  ;  and  he  also  writes  out  i)arts  ; 
changes  of  scenes  ;  makes   lists   of  the  properties  or 
articles  needed  ;  and  altogether,  his  position  is  nothing 


IN    TIIK    WINGS. 


109 


like  a  sinecure.  A  rule  of  the  theatre,  that  in  many 
places,  has  glided  quietly  out  of  existence,  is  to  the 
eflect     that     no])ody    must    lounge    in    the    prompter  s 


GETTING   THEIR    "  LINES 


5' 


corner.  But  they  do.  Many  a  fairy  queen,  with 
shining  raiment  and  powerful  wand,  loiters  around  to 
catch   a    glimpse   of   the   few  lines   she    has    to    speak, 


110 


IN    TIIK    WINGS. 


while  dulling  little  princes  in  the  nicest  of  tiuhts,  or 
pirates,  or  bandits,  with  symmetrical  limbs  fully  dis- 
played, and  the  softest  of  hearts  beating  under  their 
corsets,  get  alongside  of  him,  and  because  they  have 
had  little  parts  to  memorize,  and  have  let  them  slip 
lightly  and  swiftly  beyond  their  recollection,  tease  the 
prompter  to  help  them  regain  the  lost  words. 


MILTON   NOBLES. 


A  veteran  prompter,  who  has  evidently  seen  a  great 
deal  of  the  world  beyond  the  foot-lights,  in  givmg  his 
reminiscences,  said-  "  Some  actors  l)oast  that  they 
never  stick.  No  matter  if  they  have  totally  forgotten 
their  lines,  they  '  say  something,'  as  they  i)hrase  it,  and 
I  have  never  seen  the  diirerenee  noted  by  the  andiencc 
vet.  Once,  while  I  was  making  the  rounds  of  tlic 
Pacific  coast,  twenty  years  or  so  ;igo,  1  wmt  to  see 
a  jx-rfoi-mancc  of    '  Macbeth,'    by  the  company  of  a 


IN    THE    WINGS.  Ill 

friend  of  mine  in  San  Francisco.  It  was  a  touirh  cora- 
pany,  a  band  of  regulation  old-time  barn  stormers, 
and  the  fellow  who  played  Macbeth  was  so  far  gone  in 
the  dreamy  vacancy  of  whiskey  that  he  '  gagged  '  his 
part  more  than  once  in  the  first  scene.  Finalh^  in  the 
middle  of  his  second,  he  was  also  dead  lost.  He  hesi- 
tated, but  only  for  a  moment.  Then  he  threw  his 
arms  around  Lady  Macbeth' s  waist,  and  drawing  her 
to  him,  coolly  said:  'Let  us  retire,  dearest  chuck, 
and  con  this  matter  over  in  a  more  sequestered  spot, 
far  from  the  busy  haunts  of  men.  Here  the  walls  and 
doors  are  spies,  and  our  every  word  is  echoed  far  and 
near.  Come,  then,  let's  away !  False  heart  must 
hide,  you  know,  what  false  heart  dare  not  show.' 
They  made  their  exit  in  a  roar  of  applause,  and  I 
thought,  '  There's  a  man  who  has  no  use  for  a 
prompter,  sure  enough.' 

"All  actors  are  not  like  him,  however.  Raw  actors 
are  the  prompter's  horror.  The  debutante  is  another. 
She  will  forget  every  line  the  moment  she  strikes  the 
stage,  and  be  so  nervous,  moreover,  that  she  will  not 
be  able  to  repeat  those  the  prompter  reads  to  her.  I 
remember  one  young  lady  who  thought  she  had  a  mis- 
sion to  play  Juliet.  She  made  her  appearance,  sup* 
ported  by  a  country  company,  and  lost  every  line,  as 
usual.  Wo  prompted  her  through  her  lirst  scene,  some- 
how. When  the  balcony  scene  was  on,  her  mother  stood 
on  the  ladder  behind  her,  reading  her  speeches  word  for 
word,  which  she  repeated  after  her.  But  the  old  lady 
was  a  heavy  weight,  and  the  step-ladder  was  no  longer 
in  the  flower  of  youth  ;  so,  in  the  middle  of  the  fare- 
well, it  gave  Avay.  The  old  lady  was  tumbled  forward 
against  the  ricketty  staging  of  the  balcony,  and  it  fell 
against  the  set  piece  that  masked  it  in  from  the  audi- 
ence.    So   Juliet,    mother,  balcony,  and   all   toppled 


(112) 


IMPROVINd    SrAKi:    MOMKNTS. 


IN   THE   WINGS.  113 

down  on  Romeo ^  and  by  the  time  he  was  taken  from 


the  wreck  he  was  as  mournful  a  lover  as  the  play  makes 
him  out  to  be." 

Looking  around  among   the  players  again  we  find  a 


114  IN    THK    "NVINOS. 

fairy  leaning  up  against  some  object  with  licr  lithe 
limbs  crossed,  and  she  putting  in  the  spare  time  allowed 
her  in  doing  crochet  or  some  kindred  work.  Perhaps 
she  is  knitting  a  purse  for  some  distant  lover,  or  maybe 
it  is  a  tiny  pair  of  socks  for  the  little  ])aby  that  is  wait- 
ing for  her  at  home.  For  many  of  these  youthful, 
charming,  and  heart-breaking  fairies  and  fair  bur- 
lesqners  are  married,  and  frequently  their  husljands 
are  in  the  same  company.  A  story  is  told  of  a  well- 
known  and  popular  actress  who  brings  her  hnsband 
with  her  to  the  theatre  every  night,  and  while  the  old 
man  —  a  dear,  innocent  and  uncomplaining  old  fellow 
sits  in  the  side  scenes  nursing  baby  with  a  bottle,  on 
one  knee,  and  holding  an  English  pug  on  the  other, 
while  the  mother  is  out  before  the  admiring  public 
throwing  her  arms  about  some  strange  Romeo,  and 
clin^ino:  to  him  with  all  the  warmth  and  allcction  of 
the  fair  Juliet's  young  love. 

The  story  is  told  of  a  New  York  fireman,  who  made 
real  love,  and  too  much  of  it,  on  the  stage.  Accord- 
ing to  the  rules  of  the  fire  department  there,  a  mem- 
ber of  the  department  is  ke[)t  on  duty  at  every  per- 
formance in  the  theatres.  "While  there  he  has  nothing 
to  do  except  respond  to  any  call  of  fire,  and  give  his 
valuable  services  in  suppressing  it.  liut  it  is  very 
seldom  that  his  services  are  called  into  recpiisition,  and 
consequently  the  position  at  the  theatre  is  much  sought 
after  by  the  gallant  fire  laddies.  As  a  rule,  tiie  mem- 
bers of  the  department  are  a  fine  body  of  men,  but  those 
detailed  at  the  theatres  are  very  fine-looking  and  con- 
sequently very  popular  with  the  actresses  at  the  thea- 
tres. The  natural  result  is  that  tlu;  fireman  soon  has 
a  ♦'  mash,"  and  having  unrestricted  liberties  perambu- 
lates through  the  building  without  hindrance.  Becom- 
ing well  acquainted  with  the  nooks  and  corners  he  is  en- 


MAKING   LOVE   IN   THE   SIDE-SCENES.  (l^^) 


llfi  IN   THE   WINGS. 

ablcd  to  siuitch  a  few  moments'  sweet  converse  with  the 
object  oi'  his  tifVections,  and  in  a  })hice  where  they  can 
commune  with  one  another  uninfhienced  by  the  presence 
of  anyone.  But  recently  the  reguhir  disappearance  of 
the  lireman  of  a  certain  theatre  at  a  stated  time  l)ecaine 
the  sul)ject  of  comment  anioniz;  the  attaches,  and  an- 
other female  admirer  of  the  gallant  fireman,  actuated 
possibly  by  jealous  motives,  watched  him  receding 
from  view  and  followed  his  footsteps  silently.  In  an 
unfrequented  nook  among  the  ruins  of  ancient  moun- 
tains, pillars  and  broad  tields  —  on  canvas  — stood  the 
object  of  her  disappointed  affections,  eni])racing  the 
fair  form  of  her  rival  and  giving  vent  to  the  pent-up 
feelings  of  his  heart,  while  she,  coy,  and  dove-like, 
stood,  l)lushingly  receiving  the  compliments  which 
were  being  showered  upon  her.  This  was  too  much 
for  the  slighted  fair  one,  and  the  place  that  knew  the 
lovimx  hearts  for  many  eveninirs  is  now  vacant  and 
ready  for  the  occu[)ancy  of  another  loving  couple. 

Another  fire  lad  of  the  same  department  thought  he 
smelt  fire  one  night  just  before  the  performance  began, 
lb;  pried  around  through  every  nook  and  corner  in  the 
fidfilment  of  his  dutv,  and  at  last  was  satisfied  that  he 
had  found  the  place.  Ho  was  not  snfliciently  well 
posted  to  know  that  he  liad  located  the  incipient  blaze 
in  one  of  the  ladies'  dressing-rooms.  So  in  he  [)()ppcd 
without  giving  any  warning.  The  girls  were  dressing 
for  the  ballet  and  already  one  of  them  was  in  condition 
to  tret  into  her  svnnnetricals.  Imagine  the  consterna- 
tion  of  the  girls  at  sight  of  the  apparition  in  blue 
clothes,  ca[),  and  bra-s  buttons.  They  hastily  got 
behind  towels  and  other  articles  within  reach  and  set 
up  a  screech  that  came  near  creating  a  panic  among  the 
audience.  The  fire  boy  did  not  wait  to  find  the  origin 
of  the  smoke,  and  it  took  all  the  persuasive  powers  of 


IN   THE   WINGS.  117 

the  manager  and  company  to  keep  the  girls  from  swear- 


m'lLE    GERALDINE    and    little    GERRY. 

ing  out  warrants  for  burglary  or  something  of  that  kind 
against  the  luckless  laddie. 

There  are  a  great  many  other  ludicrous  things  that 


118  IN  THE  ^v^xGs. 

have  liappcnccl  behind  the  scenes,  and  l)nt  few  of 
which  have  reached  the  public.  The  legend  about 
Atkins  Lawrence's  lion  skin,  which  he  wears  when  he 
plays  Inr/o?7iar,  and  which  was  so  heavily  si)rinkled 
with  snuff  as  a  preservative  against  moths  that  when 
Parthcnia  began  to  woo  the  barbarian  chief  and  leant 
lovingly  upon  his  shoulder  she  almost  sneezed  her 
head  off  before  the  alarmed  audience,  is  told  of  Mary 
Anderson.  The  Milwaukee  Sun  printed  something 
about  the  same  actress,  that  whether  true  or  false  is 
equally  good.  The  writer  says  :  —  "  Tt  is  well  known 
that  Miss  Anderson  is  addicted  to  the  gum-chewing 
habit,  and  that  when  she  goes  upon  the  stage  she 
sticks  her  chew  of  gum  on  an  old  castle  painted  on  the 
scenery.  There  was  a  wicked  young  man  playing  a 
minor  i)art  in  the  play  who  had  been  treated  scornfully 
by  ]\Iary,  as  he  thought,  and  he  had  been  heard  to  say 
he  would  make  her  sick.  He  did.  lie  took  her  chew 
of  gum  and  s[)rcad  it  out  so  it  M'as  as  thin  as  p:iper, 
then  i)laced  a  chew  of  tobacco  inside,  neatly  wrapi)ed 
it  up,  and  stuck  it  back  on  the  old  castle.  Mary  came 
off,  when  the  curtain  went  down,  and  going  up  to  the 
castle  she  bit  like  a  i)ass.  Putting  the  gum,  which  she 
had  no  idea  was  loaded,  into  her  mouth,  she  mashed  it 
between  her  ivories  and  rolled  it  as  a  sweet  morsel 
undci  her  tongue.  It  is  said  by  those  who  ha[)pened 
to  be  behind  the  scenes,  that  when  the  tobacco  began 
to  j;et  in  its  work  there  was  the  worst  translbrmation 
scene  that  ever  appeared  on  the  stage.  The  air,  one 
supc  said,  seemed  to  be  fidl  of  fine  cut  tobacco  and 
spruce  gum,  and  Mary  stood  there  ami  leaned  against 
a  j)ainted  rock,  a  })icture  of  homesickness.  She  was 
pah;  about  the  gills,  and  trembled  like  an  aspen  leaf 
shaken  bv  the  Aviiid.  She  was  calm  as  a  summer's 
morninLT,     and     while    concealment    like    a    worm     in 


IN   THE   WINGS.  119 

an  apple,  gnawed  at  her  stomach,  and  tore  her  cor- 
set strings,  she  did  not  upbraid  tlio  wretch  who  had 
smuggled  the  vile  pill  into  her  countenance.  All  she 
said,  as  she  turned  her  pale  face  to  the  painted  ivy  on 
the  rock,  and  grasped  a  painted  mantel  piece  with  her 
left  hand,  as  her  right  hand  rested  on  her  li^aving 
stomach,  was,  'I  die  by  the  hand  of  an  assassin.' 
Women  can't  be  too  careful  where  they  put  their 
gum.  " 

Actors  are  not  fonder  of  or  indulge  more  in  liquor 
than  any  other  class.  Occasionally  you  will  find  a 
member  of  the  profession  whose  passion  for  the  ar- 
dent will  lead  him  far  enough  to  disappoint  the  public. 
Joe  Emmet's  indiscretions  in  this  direction  gave  him 
world-wide  notoriety,  and  for  this  reason  only  do  I 
mention  them  here.  He  is  a  favorite  everywhere  and 
for  that  reason  the  entire  public  regretted  his  one  fault 
among  so  many  agreeable  virtues.  But  Joe  has  occa- 
sioned many  comical  situations  in  the  side  scenes  while 
actors  and  manager  were  plying  him  with  seltzer, 
bromide  of  potassium  and  other  soberatives  in  order 
to  get  him  to  begin  or  finish  a  play,  when  there  was  a 
jammed  house  waiting  to  applaud  him  at  every  turn  in 
"  Fritz."  But  Emmet  has  crossed  the  Rubicon  ao;ain 
and  once  more  his  worldful  of  friends  rejoice  in  his 
happiness  and  grcf\ying  fortune.  He  is  not  the  only 
one  in  the  profession  who  has  been  addicted  to  the  cup 
that  cheers  and  inebriates  at  the  same  time.  I  have 
heard  that  a  pretty  and  popular  soubrette  must  have 
her  glass  of  brandy  between  the  acts,  and  that  an  actor 
already  at  the  top  of  the  ladder  is  succumbing  to  the 
seductive  and  rosy  liquid.  Still  liquor  has  not  made 
nearly  the  number  of  victims  in  the  ranks  of  the 
theatrical  class  that  it  has  in  other  professions,  and  it 
is  only  alluded  to  here  to  illustrate  a  comical  incident 


120 


IN    THE    NVIN*GS. 


that  once  occurred  dining  the  engagement  of  a  l)ui'- 
lesque  combination  in  Kansas  City.  It  was  not  known 
until  six  o'clock  at  night  that  the  comedian  of  the 
comedy  was  in  a  sad  state  of  intoxication  somewhere 
through    the    town.      Parties    were    sent    out   at   once 


aOBEKINO    A    COMEDIAN. 


to  look  liiin  up.  They  did  not  succeed  in  lindinfjc  him 
until  7  :  ;^()  when  they  hurried  iiini  (o  liie  theatre.  It 
was  a  tcriihh!  job  to  get  him  into  his  stage-clothes  and 
to  keep  his  head  steady  and   his   eyes  open   h»ng  enough 


IN  THE  WINGS. 


121 


to  allow  his  friends  to  make  him  up  for  his  part.  By 
the  time  this  had  been  done  the  impatient  audience 
shouted  and  whistled  and  stamped  so  violently  that  at 
last  the  manager  Avas  obliged  to  ring  the  curtain  up. 
Mr.  Comedian  was  in  the  wings  reluctantly  accepting 
the  remedies  provided  by  his  friends,  while  they  waited 
for  his  cue  to  go  on.     He  was  fairly    sober  when  he 


M'CULLOUGH  AS  "  VIRGINIUS. 


reaoiied  the  presence  of  the  audience  and  although  he 
betrayed  his  condition  slightly,  few  in  the  house 
knew  enough  about  the  trouble  that  had  been  taken 
with  him  in  order  that  the  manager  might  keep  his 
word  with  the  public.  It  is  needless  to  add  that  Mr. 
Comedian  was  very  sorry,  and  sick  when  he  got  sober. 


CHAPTKll  IX. 


STAGE    CHARMS    AXl)    OMENS. 


The  niglit  the  Southern  Hotel  hiinied  down  in  St. 
Louis,  I  was  standing  at  the  ladies'  entrance  when  Kate 
Chixton,  whose  i)resencc  is  now  always  regarded  in  a 
citviis  ominous  of  a  contlajrration,  canie  down  throuffh 
the  fire  and  smoke  in  her  night  dress  and  was  hurried 
across  the  ptrect  and  out  of  damper  l)v  a  e:entleman  who 
lent  her  his  overcoat  while  she  made  her  way  to 
another  hotel.  There  were  seventeen  lives  lost  that 
terrible  night,  and  a  young  and  beautifid  actress  — 
Frankie  ^[cLellan  —  in  a  frantic  effort  to  escape  the 
flames,  jumped  from  a  three  story  window  and  had  her 
face  marked  for  life  by  the  fall.  Just  as  soon  as  i)eo- 
plc  got  over  the  horror  of  the  first  news  of  the  catas- 
trophe, gossip  turned  to  theorizing  and  from  that 
diversant  stories  Avere  told  concerning  the  prominent 
people  who  figured  in  the  calamity.  Then  it  became 
known  tiiat  Milton  Nobles  had  lost  a  brand  new  pair  of 
lavender  trousers,  in  the  pockets  of  which  were  several 
hundred  dollars  that  "  1'iie  Phcenix  "  had  brought 
him  that  same  evening.  Then  too,  the  narrow  escape 
of  Kose  Osborne,  of  the  Olympic  stcx-k  company,  was 
recited  ;  but  prominent  above  all.  Miss  Kate  Claxton's 
presence  in  the  hotel  was  dwelt  upon,  and,  as  she  had 
already  fairly  earned  the  unanimous  rei)utation  that  has 
since  folh)wed  her,  her  name  became  part  of  the  his- 
tory of  the  conflagration,  as  it  lias  been  associated  with 
cvcrv  eonflairration  that  occurred  in  her  vicinaj'c  since. 

(122) 


STAGK    CHARMS    AND    OMENS. 


123 


/5he  is  rather  uiigallantly  and  untruly  styled  the  "  Fire 
Fiend,"  and  all  sorts  of  predictions  are  made  about 
the  theatre  she  plays  in,  the  hotel  she  has  her  rooms  at, 
and  the  very  town  and  county  in  which  she  is  tempo- 


KATE  CLAXTON. 

rarily  domiciled.  But  Kate  Claxton,  who  by  the  way 
is  Mrs.  Stevenson,  is  not  the  first  person  in  her  pro- 
fession to  have  acquired  such  an  unenviable  reputation. 
Thomas  S.  Haml^lin,  an  actor  and  manager  of  the  early 
half  of  the  present  century,  who  came  from  England  in 


124  STAGE  CHARMS  AXD  OMENS. 

1825  to  still'  ill  "  Sliiikospcarc,"  was  followed  I)}-  tire  even 
more  relentlessly  than  Miss  Claxton  has  been.  No  less 
than  four  theatres  burned  under  his  nianaijement,  and 
it  Avas  generally  said  "when  he  luidcrtook  to  open  or 
run  a  place  of  amusement  that  from  that  moment  it 
was  fated  to  the  tlamos.  Ilaniljlin  liirures  conspicu- 
ously in  the  history  of  the  Bowery.      II*;  died  in  1854. 

The  sailor  who  braves  tlie  dangers  of  the  deep  is  al- 
ways blindly  superstitious.  There  is  something  in  the 
vastness  of  the  ocean,  in  its  misty  immensity ,^in  its 
magic  mirage,  its  wonders  and  its  terrors,  that  puzzles 
the  mind  and  sets  fire  to  the  imagination  of  jjoor  ,Iaek, 
and  even  bewilders  his  superior  otlicers.  The  artist 
who  undertakes  to  sail  bef"ore  tiie  public  and  to  amuse 
it  for  a  living  is  quite  as  mudi  at  sea  as  your  genuine 
Jack  Tar.  He  or  she  finds  himself  or  herself  on  a 
veritable  ocean,  beset  by  dangers,  surrounded  liy  un- 
known and  fickle  conditions  of  atmosphere  and  i)hc- 
nomena.  All  the  loiric  of  the  drv  land  is  of  no  avail 
in  such  a  situation.  Tlie  relations  of  cause  and  elfect 
are  broken  up.  Magic  is  the  only  excuse  ior  the  an-i- 
val  of  the  unexpected.  The  seemingly  impossil)le  in 
results  is  always  the  most  possible.  Once  embarked 
in  the  dramatic  sea,  no  one  can  tell  where  the  voyage 
mav  end,  or  what  it  mav  bring  forth.  A  shipwreck 
on  auriferous  rocks  ma}'  prove  a  success. 

Triumpli  may  come  from  ruin  ;  hai)pincss  from  dan- 
jrer,  and  the  lonufcst  vovaire  and  the  richest  freii;ht  are 
often  given  the  most  leaky  and  shallow  craft.  There 
is  no  knowiniT  which  ])oat  will  float  the  longest  on  the 
dramatic  sea  —  the  best  equipi)ed  or  the  most  shaky 
and  flimsy.  So  it  is  no  womler  that  actors  are  all 
superstitious.  They  have  no  compass  even  to  guide 
them  when  l)eset  by  the  varying  winds  of  public  opin- 
ion.    The  impossible  is  always  sure  to  meet  them  ;  so 


STAGE    CHARMS    AND    OMENS.  125 

they  are  always  on  the  lookout  for  magic,  and  depend 
in  secret  quite  as  much  upon  their  simple  necromancy 
as  upon  their  talent  or  their  study.  Every  star  has, 
so  to  speak,  a  fetich  that  insures  success,  or  goes 
through  an  imaginary  formula  to  invoke  prosperity. 
Tlie  pul)lic  is  constantly  under  the  influence  of  the 
voudoo  arts  of  actors,  and  incantations  and  mystic 
signs  rule  the  world  of  Thespis  and  enslave  the  j^ublic 
without  its  knowledge.  Some  of  these  fancies  and 
formula  of  intelligent  actors  are,  indeed,  more  simple 
and  childlike  than  those  that  characterize  poor  Jack  of 
the  briny  deep. 

Imaijine,  for  instance,  an  actor  like  John  Mc- 
Cullough  refusing  to  approach  a  theatre  except  by  one 
route  (the  one  he  first  takes,  no  matter  how  round- 
about)* from  night  to  night,  for  fear  of  breaking  the 
charm  of  success.  Imagine,  too,  a  lot  of  other  trifling 
things  that  beset  him  —  signs,  omens  and  the  like. 
If  he  stumbles  when  he  first  enters  a  scene  it  is  a  siirii 
of  good  luck.  If  he  receives  faint  applause  in  the  first 
scene  he  is  sure  to  succeed,  amid  thunderous  plaudits, 
in  the  last ;  if  Forrest's  sword,  used  in  the  Gladiator, 
becomes  dim  by  damp  air  or  other  cause,  it  is  a  sign 
of  lack  of  fervor  in  the  audience  of  the  evening,  while, 
on  the  contrary  an  extraordinary  brightness  of  the 
weapon  is  a  sure  sign  of  great  success.  If  a  negro 
should  cross  his  path  while  he  is  on  his  way  to  a  per- 
formance, that  is  a  never-failing  omen  of  a  prosperous 
engagement,  while  to  encounter  a  cross-eyed  woman 
(not  a  man,  for  strabismus  in  that  sort  of  creature 
does  not  afi"ect  John,  probably  because  it  is  only  the 
woman  lie  looks  at),  is  a  sure  sign  if  not  of  failure, 
at  least  of  annoyance  to  himself  and  coldness  on  the 
part  of  his  audience.  The  Macbeth  music  is,  of 
course,  his  great  bugbear,  as  it  is  with  all  actors. 


(126) 


TliK   LATE    YEN  IE    CLANUIE, 


STAGE    CHARMS    AND    OMENS.  127 

No  success  could  attend  any  of  his  performances  if 
any  one  were  to  hum  or  whistle  the  witclies'  chorus  in 
the  wings  or  the  dressing-rooms.  Any  poor,  inexpe- 
rienced devil  who  might  try  it  would  find  John,  and, 
in  fact,  all  the  company,  wrestling  with  him,  and  him- 
self lying  in  the  gutter  at  the  back  door  before  he  had 
warbled  through  two  bars  of  the  fatal  music.  This  is, 
in  the  opinion  of  every  actor,  a  sure  invocation  of  dis- 
aster. Under  the  malio;n  influence  of  this  melodic 
devilishness  either  the  theatre  will  be  burned  down 
(for,  if  we  are  to  believe  the  actors  and  stage  tradi- 
tion, every  theatre  that  was  ever  burned  in  this  coun- 
try was  put  under  the  spell  of  fire  by  some  singer  or 
whistler  of  the  witches'  chorus),  or  salaries  will  not  be 
paid,  or  the  manager  will  bring  his  season  to  an  early 
and  disastrous  end.  Something  ill  is  sure  to  happen 
if  the  Macbeth  music  is  heard,  and  John  shares  that 
belief  in  common  with  even  the  humblest  Roman  of 
them  all  who  parades  his  scraggy  shanks  nightly  in 
ridiculous  contrast  with  the  heroic  le2:s  of  the  trage- 
dian. 

John  T.  Raymond,  while  believing  faithfully  in  all 
the  regular  signs  and  omens  of  the  stage,  has  his  own 
special  claims  to  "  hog  'em,"  using  the  stage  vernacu- 
lar. He  has  only  one  suit  of  clothes  for  Colonel 
Sellers,  and  would  not  have  any  other  under  any  cir- 
cjLimstances.  It  would  change  his  luck  from  good  to 
bad. 

"Remark,"  he  says,  "there  never  was  a  success 
continued  where  a  play  was  entirely  re-costumed. 
The  public  interest  began  to  flag  always  in  some  mys- 
terious way  from  the  time  the  new  dresses  came  on. 
It  is  the  old  story  of  old  wine  in  new  bottles.  The 
wine  will  burst  the  bottles.  There's  oroino;  to  be  no 
burst  with  my  wine.  I  stick  to  my  old  clothes  as  long 
as  Ihev  will  stick  to  me." 


128 


STAGE    CIIAHMS    AND    OMENS. 


Ho  has  also  a  lucky  $')  gold  piece,  which  he  always 
carries  in   hi^  vo^t  pnrlcpf  on  tho  stno-o,  wliatever  part 


1^.-.- 


(jATHh:iaNh:  lkwis. 


he  is  playing,  and   when    ho  i.s  iiorvous  and  fearful  of 
lack  of  appreciation  ho  has  only  to  rub  hi.-j  magic  coin 


STAGE    CHARMS   AND    OMENS.  129 

to  make  everything  lovely.  In  getting  out  of  bed  he 
will  not  slip  out  with  the  left  foot  first,  lest  he  may 
have  bad  luck  all  the  day.  His  dreams  decide  his  ac- 
ceptance of  a  play,  and  when  he  is  puzzled  between 
two  methods  of  working  up  a  "  point,"  he  is  perfectly 
satisfied  to  settle  it  by  the  toss  up  of  a  cent. 

Joe  Jefferson  is  also  impressed  with  the  magical 
potency  of  old  clothes.  He  has  never  changed  his 
first  "  Kip  Van  Winkle  "  suit,  but  he  has  been  forced 
to  have  it  patched  and  renovated.  His  hat,  wig,  beard 
and  "  trick  "  rifle  —  the  one  that  falls  to  pieces  after 
his  long  sleep  —  are  the  same  that  he  used  when  he  made 
his  great  success  in  the  part  in  London  fifteen  years 
ago.  He  mislaid  this  gun  last  season,  just  before  he 
played  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  Theatre,  and  was  forced  to 
get  another.  That  eno;ao;ement  was  his  first  failure, 
and  a  bad  one.  He  has  found  the  old  rifle,  and,  the 
charm  being  now  complete  again,  he  has  opened  the 
season  with  a  very  successful  week  in  Brooklyn.  Joe 
would  break  an  engagement  in  any  theatre  if  a  dog 
were  to  walk  across  the  stage  at  the  first  rehearsal. 
That  is  a  sure  sign  of  death,  loss,  or  fire,  as  every 
actor  knows.  A  cat  parading  the  coulisses  or  walking 
with  dainty  tread  across  the  scene,  however  (even  at 
an  evening  performance),  would  be  hailed  by  him  and 
colleagues  with  delight  as  an  unfailing  sign  of  pros- 
perity, health  and  renown. 

Sothern  felt  that  he  was  sure  to  fail  with  his  audi- 
ence if  his  valet,  by  an  accident,  handed  him  his  wig 
before  his  coat  was  on,  while,  if  he  put  it  on  his  head 
at  the  last  moment,  and  not  before  the  voices  of  the 
call-boy  was  heard  summoning  all  on  for  his  first  scene, 
he  had  •'  got  'em  dead  to  rights." 

Florence,  like  Raymond,  carries  a  lucky  $5  gold 
piece,  and  believes  the  charm  of  his  popularity  reposes 


130  STAGE    CHARMS    AND    OMENS. 

in  the  fact  that  he  always  puts  on  his  costumes  in  a 
ncvcr-vaiying  order,  and  never  changes  his  old  brushes 
and  articles  of  "  make-up."  He,  too,  is  afraid  of  tlie 
necromantic  powers  of  the  evil-omened  dog,  and  be- 
lieves in  the  magic  spells  of  fairy  grimalkin.  If  the 
orchestra  plays  a  waltz  between  the  first  and  second 
acts  of  his  piece,  success  is  more  likely  than  ever  to  seal 
his  eflbrts  of  the  evening. 

Mrs.  Florence,  on  the  contrary,  does  not  believe  in 
old  clothes,  but  quite  the  reverse.  She  thinks,  how- 
ever, that  birds  (canaries,  or  any  other  variety)  are  sure 
to  bring  bad  luck,  and  will  not  })lay  in  the  company 
where  there  is  a  cross-eyed  girl.  The  cross-eyed  man 
doesn't  count.  If  the  prompter  should  tear  a  page  of 
manuscript  accidentally,  or,  moreover,  if  the  page 
should  contain  the  name  or  a  speech  of  the  character 
she  is  acting,  there  is  no  use  in  hoping  for  a  great 
furor  that  evening,  for  there  will  be  nothing  but  dis- 
appointments in  the  making  of  points  and  contretemps 
in  the  management  of  the  stage.  If  the  prompter 
turns  out  the  foot-lights  or  a  row  of  border-lights, 
swift  disaster  is  sure  to  come  on  the  theatre.  This 
was  never  known  to  fiil  in  her  experience. 

Booth  will  never  u-o  on  the  staijfc,  no  matter  how 
late  or  hurried  he  may  be,  without  first  pacing  three 
time  across  the  green-room,  mumbling  over  not  the 
first,  but  the  very  last  speech  of  the  piece  he  is  to  play 
that  night.  Then  he  walks  ou,  sure  of  his  triumph. 
If  he  should  fail  in  his  fornnila,  the  audience  would  be 
cold  and  unappreciative.  It  has  been  his  custom  to 
have  Desdemona'.s  couch  set  in  the  second  entrance  on 
the  stage,  left  in  the  last  scene  of  "  Othello."  Ac- 
cording to  the  old  style,  the  couch  should  bo  set  in  the 
centre  door,  behind  curtains,  exactly  in  front  of  the 
audience.     Booth    believes    in    signs,    however,    and 


STAGE    CHARMS    AND    OMENS. 


131 


should  he  consent  to  have  De^detnona  slunil>er  in  iiny 
other  pkicc  than  U.  E.  L.  ho  woukl  h)sc  his  charm  in 
the  character  of  lago. 

Frank    Chanfrau     believes     in    the.   efficacy    of     old 


CHANFKAU. 


clothes.  He  has  only  one  suit  in  ITif,  and  his  success 
is  unvarying  in  that  piece.  He  hates  dogs  on  the 
stage,  believes  in  cats,  knows  birds  are  bad  luck,  is 
convinced  that  a  house  decorated  in   a  prevailing  hue 


132  STAGE    ClIAUMS   AND    OMENS. 

of  decided  blue  is  sure  of  ill-fortune,  jind  shudders  at 
the  mere  mention  of  the  Macbeth  iimsic.  He  has 
steered  clear  of  all  these  evil  influences  durinir  his 
stage  career,  and  has  been  uniformly  successful. 

Oliver  Doud  Byron  has  a  special  claim  in  addition 
to  the  regular  superstitions  of  his  class.  lie  has  a 
certain  tattoo  mark  of  India  ink  on  his  riirht  forearm. 
When  he  rolls  up  his  sleeves  for  his  "  terrible  com- 
bat" in  the  last  act  of  ''Across  the  Continent,"  he 
must  uncover  that  mark  without  looking  at  it,  or  his 
fetich  is  not  complete,  and  the  charm  of  his  prosperity 
will  be  broken. 

Charles  Thorne  believes  his  success  lies  in  the  fact 
that  he  always  steps  on  the  stage  in  the  first  scene 
with  his  right  foot  foremost,  and  keeps  it  in  advance 
until  he  has  delivered  his  first  speech.  This  done,  be 
is  safe  and  sure  of  a  "  Avalk  over  "  before  his  critics. 
Once  or  twice  he  has  inadvertently  stepped  Out  with 
his  left,  and  on  these  occasions  he  has  failed,  or  the 
})iece  has  fallen  Hat.  Such  an  accident  happened  him 
on  the  first  niirht  of  "Lost  Children."  Manaij^er  Pal- 
mer,  of  the  Union  Square,  who  has  also  become  a  vic- 
tim of  stage  superstitions,  is  fearful  of  Thorne  stei)ping 
out  with  his  terril)lc  left  foot  on  a  first  night,  just  out 
of  retaliation  for  some  slight  or  disaij^reement.  Thorne, 
possessing  tills  magic  power  for  good  or  e\il,  not  at 
his  fingers'  ends,  but  at  the  ends  of  his  toes,  is  a  ter- 
ror to  the  establishment,  and  on  first  nights  is  treated 
with  distinguished  consideration  by  the  entire  com- 
pany. No  one  gets  in  his  way  when  he  is  about  to 
make  his  stage  entrance  on  ;i  first  night,  lest  ho  may 
1)0  thrown  out  of  step  and  advance  with  sinister  elToct 
upon  the  scene.  Thome's  right  foot  once  put  forward, 
every  one  breathes  freer  and  plays  with  greater  vim. 
The  critical   point  of  every  new  play,  therefore,  lies, 


STAGE    CHARMS   AND   OMENS.  133 

though  the  critics  may  not  think  it,  in  the  mahgn  or 
favorable  magic  of  Thornc's  feet,  according  as  he  puts 
them  forward. 

Adehiide  Neilson  was  as  superstitious  as  all  actresses 
are.  Her  evenly-balanced  beauty  and  brains  did  not 
free  her  from  the  slavery  of  omens.  She  carried  about 
with  her,  ever  since  her  first  London  success  in  Juliet, 
a  lucky  silken  rag —  a  dingy,  straw-colored  drapery  — 
which  she  insisted  upon  hanging  over  the-  railing  of 
the  balcony  when  Juliet  breathes  her  complaints  to 
the  moon.  Without  this,  the  fair  Adelaide  was  sure 
she  could  not  succeed  in  the  scene  in  any  part  of  the 
world.  She  brought  the  silken  r;ig  across  the  water 
with  her  again  and  again.  The  drapery  was  somewhat 
faded  and  tattered  from  long  service  in  the  two  worlds, 
but  she  still  clung  fondly  to  it,  and  said  it  was  pos- 
sessed of  all  its  olden  magic. 

Lotta  sleeps  three  hours  by  daylight,  but  if  she 
should  wake  up  ten  minutes  before  the  usual  time  (just 
the  time  to  rush  to  the  theatre)  the  fates  are  against 
her,  and  she  will  not  do  well  that  evening.  Tf  any  one 
whistles  in  a  dressinsf-room  within  her  hearino;  Avhile 
she  is  donning  her  costume,  she  is  sure  the  person  is 
"  whistling  away  her  luck,"  and  the  house  is  going  to 
be  bad. 

Fanny  Davenport  would  not,  for  any  consideration, 
miss  rearranging  her  wig  before  the  green-room  mirror 
just  previous  to  going  on  the  stage.  She  has  a  regular, 
unvarying  formula  to  go  through  to  guarantee  success. 
She  first  presses  her  hands  to  the  sides  of  her  head  to 
be  sure  the  springs  are  firmly  fixed  (although  she  has 
just  had  her  dresser  make  that  sure  in  her  dressing- 
room),  then  gives  the  "  bang"  three  smart  tugs,  puffs 
up  the  frizzes  with  a  nervous  twitch  of  her  fingers, 
presses  the  entire  wig  down  from  the  top  of  her  head, 


134 


STACK    CHARMS    AND    OMENS. 


ffives  her  silken  trail  a  final  kick  to  indiicc  it  to  unfold 
itself,  and  then  rushes  pell  mcU  to  the  staije  in  answer 
to  the  alarming  cry  of  "  stage  waiting."  Without  this 
formality  she  would   not  be  herself  the  whole  evening. 


[•■•-■'■\ 


i/ 


>,, 

J 

.■'■^^^^*r_   j^^      ^ 

FANNY    DAVKM'OUT. 


Clara  Morris  believes  in  the  efficacy  of  a  small  medi- 
cine vial,  which  she  carries  (empty)  through  every 
scene,  she  says,  through  habit,  though  it  is  fair  to 
presume,   through   superstition.     Without    the    vial  she 


could  not  jjret  alonif. 


STAGE    CHARMS   AND    OMENS. 


135 


Neilson  also  had  a  vial  —  a  special  one  — which  she 
insisted  should  only  he  used  for  Romeo^s  poison  po- 
tion. She  would  handle  no  other,  and  has  been  known 
to  have  the  bill  changed  because  the  vial  was  mislaid, 
and  would  not  allow  "  Komeo  and  Juliet  "to  be  put 
up  for  performance  until  it  was  found. 

Frank  Mayo  thinks  his  magic  lies  in  an  old  fur  cap 
and  a  hare's  foot, 
for  rou2;ing,  which 
he  had  ever  since 
he  has  been  on  the 
stage. 

Boucicault  trem- 
bles  and  is  sure  of 
failure  for  any  one 
of  his  pieces  which 
is   greeted  with  mf - 
commendation     by 
all  the  actors  with- 
out    a     dissentins: 
voice.    If  the  play-:| 
ers   condemn    hisi 
piece  at  the  rehear- 
sals, he  is  sure  the'j 
audience  will    like': 
it.  But  in  any  event^ 
no  play  of  his  can 
be  a  success  unless 
he  tears  off  the  cov- 
er to  the  first  act,  and  makes  away  with  the  title  page 
at  the  last  rehearsal. 

Maude  Granger  has  a  certain  magic  smelling-bottle 
which  she  puts  to  her  nostrils  just  before  going  on  the 
stage. 

Maggie   Mitchell   attributes    her  success  in  "  Fan- 


DION   BOUCICAULT. 


13() 


STAGE    CHARMS    AND    OMENS. 


chon  "  to  Jill  old  pair  of  shoes  which  she  wears  in  that 

piece. 

Eliza  Wcathcrsby  hates  birtls,  doesn't  like  whistlers, 

and  has  for  her  special  charm   an  embroidered  rose, 

which  alwa^-s  ai)pears  on  her  dress  or  lights,  according 

to  the  style  of  part  she  may  l)c  playing. 

Paola-^Iarie,  the 
little  Parisienno  of 
Gran's  opera 
boufle,  has  a  pet 
pug  (log  which  she 
always  fondles  at 
the  side-scenes  for 
luck,  before  going 
on  the  stage.  This, 
too,  to  the  intense 
horror  of  the  rest 
of  the  company, 
who  think  dogs  in 
theatres  bad  luck. 
Sara  Jewctt  im- 
agines that  she  com- 
mands success  and 
enslaves  her  au- 
diences by  walking 
through    her   posi- 


jms.  BOUCICAULT. 


tions  on  the  stage 
in  her  first  scene 
every  night  before  the  curtain  is  rung  up  for  the  play. 
The  managers,  too,  .share  this  weakness  of  their 
actors.  None  of  them  would  change;  their  ticket- 
boxes  for  fear  of  a  change  of  luck.  AVhen  they  move 
they  take  their  ticket-boxes  with  them.  Wallack  has 
the  same  boxes  that  were  used  at  tlie  doors  of  his 
father's  theatre  years  ago,  and  Daly  has  those  which 


STAGE    CHARMS   AND   OMENS.  137 

received  the  pasteboards  during  his  first  season  of  suc- 
cess. When  Tony  Pastor  removed  from  the  Bowery 
to  Broadway  he  took  his  boxes  over  there,  and  has 
them  with  him  now  in  his  tour  over  the  country. 
With  all  our  modern  innovations  and  realism,  we  have 
not  made  any  inroads  on  the  folk-lore  of  the  drama. 
The  theatre  is  still  fjxiry-land,  and  its  creatures,  though 
not  fairies  themselves,  commune  with  them  closel3^ 

Actors  like  many  other  people  have  a  perfect  horror 
of  the  number  thirteen.  The  only  man  in  the  profes- 
sion who  openly  defies  the  superstition  attaching  to 
this  number  is  John  R.  Rosrers,  the  mana<z:er  of  the 
"  My  Sweetheart  "  Company,  of  which  Minnie  Palmer 
and  Robert  E.  Graham  are  the  star  features.  Rogers,  it 
is  said,  not  only  got  together  a  company  of  thirteen  peo- 
ple, in  which  the  thirteen  letters  of  Mr.  Graham's  name 
stood  out  in  uninviting  prominence  ;  but  he  began  his 
season  on  Friday,  the  13th  of  the  month,  and  in  other 
ways  wooed  a  dire  and  speedy  fate  for  himself  and  his 
people  ;  but  good  luck  appears  to  have  attended  him, 
and  he  is  still  defiant  as  ever  of  the  terror-laden  and 
ominous  number.  In  contradistinction  to  Mr.  Roo;er's 
success,  the  failure  of  another  combination  may  be 
given.  Frank  L.  Gardner,  who  has  thirteen  letters  in 
his  name,  brought  out  the  play  "  Legion  of  Honor," 
whose  title  is  composed  of  exactly  thirteen  letters,  and 
had  Samuel  W.  Piercy,  —  who  died  last  winter  in 
Boston,  while  supporting  Edwin  Booth  in  his  tour, — 
for  leading  man,  and  by  doing  so  freighted  down  his 
enterprise  with  another  ill-starred  feature,  for  Mr. 
Piercy' s  name  contained  thirteen  letters.  The  play 
failed,  and  the  superstitious  people  of  the  profession 
immediately  attributed  the  failure  to  the  presence  of 
too  many  baker's  dozens  in  the  organization.  A  cer- 
tain well-known  prima  donna  whose  engagement  was 


138  STA(iE    CIIAUM.S    AND    OMKNS. 

to  begin  on  the  13th  of  the  niontli  Avent  to  the  im- 
pressario  and  begged  to  have  the  date  changed  ;  she 
said  she  knew  she  wonld  have  no  luck  if  she  bcijan  to 
sing  on  the  date  provided  for  lier  ;  besides  that  her 
friends  had  persuaded  her  that  fortune  would  only 
frown  upon  her  if  she  made  her  first  appearance  on  the 
13th.  The  12th  was  Friday,  another  day  fraught 
with  frightful  evil  to  the  sinsjiufj  and  actiniii:  fraternity, 
so  rather  than  make  an  unlucky  beginning,  the  prima 
donna  opened  on  the  11th,  and  sang  two  nights  for 
nothiuir,  althouijh  two  niixhts'  warl)ling  under  her  con- 
tract  meant  an  amount  of  money  that  would  make  a 
poor  man's  head  swim. 

The  New  York  Dramaiic  News  \\\  a  late  number 
contained  a  funny  story  al)out  Harry  Courtaino  and 
John  E.  Ince,  both  gentlemen  "well  and  favorably 
known  in  the  profession.  Mr.  Ince  had  solemnly  pro- 
fessed his  non-belief  in  good  or  bad  luck,  after  which 
he  was  invited  by  Mr.  Courtaine  to  walk  with  him. 
The  News  tells  the  story  in  this  happy  style :  To  a 
query  as  to  where  he  was  going,  Mr.  Courtaine  replied 
that  he  was  to  make  an  cmiaii-ement  for  the  cominji: 
season  with  a  gentleman  now  awaiting  him  at  the 
Union  Square  Hotel,  "  and  I  want  a  witness,"  he  said, 
"  but  I  wouldn't  have  one  of  those  superstitious  fel- 
lows with  me  for  all  the  world.  They,  make  me 
ashamed  of  myself  with  their  besotted — " 

Mr.  Courtaino  stoi)ped  suddenly  and  turned  deadly 
pale.  "  TT(  TO,  here!"  he  cried,  "cross  fingers, 
quick!"  and  seizing  Mr.  luce's  hand,  he  crossed  the 
forefinger  of  liis  own  over  it  while  a  tramp  with  one 
arm  slouched  by  them.  "  1  saw  him  over  my  left 
shoulder,  too,"  nmrmurod  Mr.  Courtaine.  *'  Dear 
me  1  dear  me  I  how  exceedingly  annoying  1  '* 

«' What's  the  matter?  "  asked  Mr.  Ince,  whom  tiie 


STAGE    CIIAKMS    AND    OMENS. 


139 


performance  of  his  companion  had  thrown  into  a  pro- 
found amazement.  "Don't  you  feel  well?  What 
is  it?" 

''Nothing,"   replied    Mr.   Courtaine,   in  some  confu- 
sion.    "A  slight  twinge  of  my  old  gout.     Those  fel- 


ss^sN^;':vy;«vvi«.yi'.>-.y^^s;^ms" 


rimxSa^  I 


MAUD  GRANGER. 


lows  on  the  square  are  enough  to  give  a  man  the  colic, 
with  their  eternal  talk  about  Jonahs,  unlucky  houses, 
hoodoo  managers  and  the  like.  I  don't  know  any- 
thing I  detest  more  than  superstition,"  said  Mr.  Cour- 


140  STAGE    CIIAUMS   AND   OMENS. 

taine,  witli  indignant  fervor.  "  I  think  it  is  a  lower 
and  more  debased  vice  than  hal)itu:il  drunkenness. 
If  there  was  a  law  passed  to  make  it  a  capital  oflence, 
I'm  d — d  if  I  wouldn't  serve  as  hangman  without  ask- 
ing a  cent  pay." 

At  this  juncture  an  old  woman,  enveloped  in  an 
odorous  combination  of  rags  and  liquor,  seized  j\Ir. 
Courtaine  by  the  sleeve  and  rolled  two  eyes,  which 
squinted  across  at  each  other  almost  at  right-angles, 
towards  the  sky,  as  she  Avhined  :  — 

"  Please,  good  gentleman,  a  penny  to  buy  a  poor 
widow  bread.  Only  a  penny,  dear,  handsome  gentle- 
man, and  God  go  with  you." 

Mr.  Courtaine  dove  into  his  pocket  to  respond  to  this 
artful  appeal,  and  as  he  did  so,  glanced  at  the  old 
woman.  Tlien  he  l)egan  a  performance  Avhic^h  plunged 
his  companion  in  a  stupor  of  wonder.  Crossing  his 
forefingers,  he  deliberately  spat  upon  the  ])avcmcnt 
over  them,  and  then  turning  in  a  circle,  repeated  the 
expectoration  at  each  of  the  four  points  of  the  com- 
pass. This  accomi)lished,  he  mopped  the  perspiration 
from  his  pallid  brow,  and  shuddered  visibly.  "  It's 
Friday,  too,"  he  muttered.  "D — n  it  all '  I  might 
have  known  it." 

"  Known  what?  "  asked  Mr.  Ince. 

"Let's  go  down  to  Thciss's  and  get  a  beer,"  said 
Mr.  Courtaine  abruptly  and  irrelevantly. 

*' You'd  better  see  your  man  first,"  suggested  the 
prudent  Mr.  Ince. 

"Oh,  no.  lie  can  wait;  besides  I  think  it's  too 
late  to  catch  him  in  now.  I'll  hunt  him  up  to-mor- 
row.    Come  along." 

The  libation  performed,  Mr.  Ince  suggested  that 
they  should  drop  in  at  the  matinee  at  Pastor's.  Mr. 
Courtaine  favored  a  stroll.     Mr.  Ince  suggested  that 


STAGE    CHARMS   AND    OMENS.  141 

his  programme  would  turn  out  the  most  pleasing  one, 
and  Mr.  Courtaine  said:  "Hold  on;  Ave  can  easily 
see;"  and  producing  a  half-dollar  he  flipped  it,  ask- 
ing, "  What  is  it?  " 

"  Heads,"  answered  Mr.  Ince. 

"  It's  tail,"  remarked  Mr.  Courtaine.  "  So  the 
stroll  will  turn  out  best.     Let's  be  moving." 

They  inoved  along,  and  as  they  passed  a  fruit  stand 
Mr.  Ince  remarked:  "Hello!  there  are  some  straw- 
berries . ' ' 

"  Ze  first-a  of  ze  season  a-Signore,"  said  the  Neapoli- 
tan nobleman,  who  presided  over  the  destinies  of  the 
stand,  with  a  bow  of  invitation,  "  ze  very  first-a,  only 
feefty  cent-a  ze  box-a." 

*'  By  Jove  !  "  cried  Mr.  Courtaine,  picking  out  three 
of  the  finest  and  leaving  the  box  a  quarter  empty, 
"  now,  then,  Ince,  make  a  wish." 

"What  for?  "  demanded  Mr.  Ince,  making  a  raid  on 
the  box  on  his  own  account. 

"  Never  mind,"  replied  Mr.  Courtaine,  evasively, 
"  only  whenever  you  eat  new  fruit  or  vegetables  make 
a  wish." 

And  he  posted  the  strawberries  into  his  oratorical 
orifice,  and  walked  off",  leaving  the  fruit  vender  foam- 
ing at  the  mouth,  and  snarling  "  corpo  di  diavola! 
zese  actor  'ave-a  ze  sheek-a  of  a  policeman.  Oh  ! 
Madonna  mial  Eef  zem  boys  'ad  not  steal-a  my 
club!" 

The  stroll  was  varied  by  no  further  incidents  except 
that  Mr.  Courtaine  walked  a  block  around  to  avoid 
passing  a  drunken  man,  and  nearly  lost  his  life  snatch- 
ing a  cast  horseshoe  up  from  in  front  of  a  street-car. 
As  they  turned  homeward  Mr.  Courtaine's  eyes  singled 
out  a  lady  approaching  with  an  armful  of  bundles,  and 
he  commenced  a  species  of  maniac  gavotte,  waving  his 


142  STAGE    CHARMS    AND    OMENS. 

hands    at    her    and    shoutinjx:   '<  Go    into    tho    street. 
Iloy  !  Iley  !  look  out  for  the  ladder  !" 

And  when  in  spite  of  his  adjurations,  Mrs.  Cour- 
taine —  for  the  lady  was  none  other —  walked  under  a 
ladder  leaninijaixainst  tho  side  of  a  risiuij:  buildinu:.  He 
sank  upon  a  row  of  beer  keirs  and  fastened  a  cuniula- 
tive  grip  on  Mr.  Ince's  arm,  cxelaiming — "  Did  you 
witness  it  wasn't  my  fault?  I  warned  her  in  time, 
didn't  1?" 

"  Do  you  remember  my  wife  %valking  under  a  ladder 
yesterday?"  observed  Mr.  ('ourtaine  to  Mr.  Inco  on 
the  morrow. 

"Yes,  wdiat  of  it?" 

"  Well,  when  we  got  home  we  found  thecal  had 
killed  the  canary  bird  — •  killed  and  ate  it  all  but  the 
tail  feathers,"  said  Mr.  Courtaine  triumphantly. 
"  Now  what  do  you  think  of  that?  Here  come  around 
to  Theiss's  or  we'll  have  those  fellows  around  us  with 
their  infernal  low-minded  superstitions  again." 


PORTIA    AND    SHYLOCK. 


POBTIA :  —  Nay,  if  the  scale  do  turn 
But  in  the  estimation  of  a  hair, 
Thou  diest,  and  all  thy  goods  are  confiscate. 

Merchant  of  Venice,  Act  IV.,  Scene  1. 


CHATTEK    X. 


NOT   DOWN    IN   THE    BILL. 


Some  very  queer  things  happen  behind  tlie  scenes, 
and  even  on  the  staixc  in  full  view  of  the  audience  — 
occurrences  that  often  mar  the  i)leasure  of  the  play 
for  the  people  in  the  auditorium,  and  raise  the  wrath 
of  the  performer.  Anything  out  of  the  usual  run 
of  business  that  occurs  behind  the  scenes  throws  the 
players  off  the  track  frequently.  There  is  a  great  deal 
of  work  jToing  on  at  all  times,  out  of  si<i:ht  or  knowl- 
edge  of  the  audience,  and  a  slight  disturbance  may  be 
an  interruption  fraught  with  dire  disaster.  There  are 
actors  and  actresses  in  the  Avings,  often,  completing  the 
memorization  of  their  parts  —  "  winging"  parts,  as  it 
is  called — or  it  may  be  going  over  their  lines  again, 
if  they  are  not  confident  that  they  have  full  possession 
of  them  ;  ami  to  these  i)eople,  of  course,  an  inter- 
ruption is  a  matter  of  the  merest  moment.  Actors 
and  actresses  have  always  been  credited  with  good 
memories,  l)ut  even  the  best  memory  may  sometimes 
be  thrown  off  the  track,  and,  indeed,  sometimes  is, 
by  an  untoward  or  startling  incident. 

Speaking  of  memory,  reminds  me  that  an  actor 
once  memorized  an  entire  newspai)er,  when  they  were 
smaller  than  now,  in  a  single  Jiiirht.  The  actor  was  a 
man  named  Lyon,  Avho  was  playing  small  parts  through 
the  country.  An  English  actor  connnittcd  the  contents 
of  the  London  Tifiir^,  advertisements  and  all,  within 
a  week,  besides  studying  a  new  part  for  every  night. 

(144) 


NOT    DOWN    IN    TIIK    15ILL. 


145 


The  feat  was  accomplished  on  a  wager.     An  actor  in 
London,  sat  through   a   play,   and  although  he  had 

Itc-rn i — 
i|rl'i:l|i|'i|lli  I    'i    '  I 
Wl  'I  ,'|    '  |i 
!Wi  '  ;ni,i''' 
ii'ii'lii'iiii  Mill, 
J    'II,   I  .ii nil,  I 


[|ii;iWI'iiii''i1''iii|i' 
i,iii'iih  I  i'" 

rf  I" 'if 

,,,i,"ii'|i' 
i'iriii.|ii'    ' 

iii''i||i|''i 

iirww iVi 

ii'!i,iii|i'iii 

ii'iiiiii  1 ,1 
III  ,iiii 


I    '\4     <  I 


'ilVi  11  I'l ,    ii  ill 
i|,i,|'i,i|H|,ii  i|Vii  if 

'ii'i'i,'     'I'  I  I  /I'l- 
I'll      I ,     I     ' 

ii'';    i'\'iiiii 
1 1 1  III 

J    I  ■iilli    'ii'        I 
I.I  £ 


LIZZIE    M  CALL. 

never  seen  it  before,  could  repeat  every  line  and  word 

]0 


141)  KOT    DOWN    IX    TlIK    I'.ILL. 

of  it  when  he  got  lioino.  lie  sat  down  and  wrote  it 
out,  and  the  copy  thus  written  was  used  for  the  per- 
formance of  the  phiy  in  New  York.  Many  readers 
will  recollect  the  New  York  couple  prosecuted  by  the 
xMadison  Square  Theatre  Company  for  selling  copies 
of  "Hazel  Kirke "  to  companies  that  had  no  right 
to  play  the  drama.  The  wife,  it  was  explained,  went 
to  the  theatre,  sat  the  play  out  a  few  times,  and  dic- 
tated the  lines  to  her  husband  from  memory.  She 
had  been  an  actress.  There  are  many  other  remark- 
able instances  of  swift  and  retentive  memories  in  the 
profession,  but  one  of  the  most  astonishing  of  all 
these  feats  is  what  is  known  as  "  winging  a  part,"  an 
expression  I  have  used  before  in  this  chapter.  This 
consists  in  ijoing  on  the  sta<re  without  having  studied 
the  lines  at  all,  the  actor  carrying  the  book  in  his 
pocket,  and  -pulling  it  out  evefy  time  he  gets  out 
of  sight  of  the  audience,  studying  the  part  in  the 
*' winds''  until  he  receives  his  cue  to  go  on  ai^ain. 
This  method  of  going  through  the  part  continues 
during  the  performance,  the  actor  speaking  the  lines 
to  the  best  of  his  ability,  and  following  the  text  as 
closely  as  possible. 

Returning  to  the  subject  of  the  chapter,  there  arc 
several  instances  of  actors  and  actresses,  prominent  and 
minor,  receiving  their  death  strokes  on  the  stage  while 
playing.  Mistress  Wofiington,  known  as  "lovely 
Peggy,"  while  playing  at  Covent  Garden,  London,  May 
3,  1757,  fell  to  the  stage  a1  the  end  of  the  fourth  act  of 
"As  You  Like  it,"  in  which  slu;  was  \)]iiy\ug  JRosaJind, 
and  after  muttering  "()  Clod!  ()  fJod  !  "  was  car- 
ricd  home  to  die  after  a  lingering  conlinement  of  three 
years  to  her  ])ed.  George  Frederick  Cooke  received 
liis  death  ^Iroke  in  New  York,  while  i)laying  )Sir 
(rihs  Ovcrrear/i,  and    IMinund   Kcan  di('<l   in   England 


NOT   DOAVN   IN   THE   BILL.  147 

under  similar  circumstances.  The  elder  Kean  and  his 
son  Charles  were  playing  together,  the  former  having 
the  role  of  Othello^  the  latter  that  of  lago.  The  date  was 
March  25,  1833.  The  event,  says  a  chronicler,  created 
great  excitement  among  play-goers  ;  the  house  was 
crammed.  Kean,  who  had  worn  himself  out  with  dis- 
sipation, went  through  the  part,  "  dying  as  he  went," 
until  he  came  to  the  "  Farewell,"  and  the  strangely 
appropriate  words,  "  Othello's  occupation's  gone." 
Then  he  gasped  for  breath  and  fell  upon  his  son's 
shoulder,  moaning,  "  I  am  dying  —  speak  to  them  for 
me  !  "  And  so  the  curtain  descended  upon  him  - —  for- 
ever. His  wife  had  separated  from  him.  "  Come 
home  to  me ;  forget  and  forgive  !  "  he  wrote  her  after 
he  had  been  conveyed  to  Eichmomd.  And  she  came. 
An  hour  before  he  died  he  sprang  out  of  bed,  exclaim- 
ing, "A  horse,  a  horse,  ray  kingdom  for  a  horse!" 
and    he  expired  with    the    dying  words  of  Octavian, 

"'Farewell,  Flo Floranthe  !  "  upon  his  lips.     This 

was  on  May  15,  1833,  and  he  was  buried  in  Rich- 
mond churchyard.  Instances  of  the  same  appalling 
kind  might  be  multiplied,  but  it  is  not  the  purpose  of 
the  writer  to  cover  the  stasfe  with  gloom,  or  to  cause 
death  to  masquerade  any  more  than  is  absolutely  nec- 
essary before  the  foot-lights.  More  interest  will  be 
felt,  and  the  heart  will  be  lighter  and  the  appetite 
better,  if  we  turn  to  the  ludicrous  incidents  that  have 
caused  audiences  ready  to  shed  tears  over  a  traged}^,  to 
turn  from  the  lachrymose  attitude  to  one  which  might 
be  represented  as  laughter  holding  both  his  sides. 

Sol  Smith  tells 'a  funny  story  about  his  earliest  ex- 
periences on  the  stage  ;  how  he  stole  in  through  the 
back  door  before  the  performance,  and  hid  in  what  he 
thought  was  a  chest,  but  which  turned  out  to  be  the 
coffin  used  in  the  play  that  evening,  and  when  it  was 


(148) 


•'  PIN   UP   MY   SKIRTS. 


NOT   DOWN   IN   THE   BILL.  149 

carried  out  on  the  stage  young  Smith  was  so  terrified 
that  he  pushed  up  the  lid  and  bounded  out,  to  the  sur- 
prise of  botli  actors  and  audience.  N.  M.  Ludlow, 
who  was  Smith's  partner  in  the  theatrical  business,  re- 
hites  a  somewhat  similar  incident  about  himself. 

The  awkward  position  of  a  "  masher  "  who  gets  into 
the  "  wings  "  by  some  hook  or  crook  is  often  extremely 
laughable.  I  saw  a  serio-comic  vocalist  —  as  the 
songstresses  of  the  variety  stage  are  named  —  astonish 
a  well-dressed  and  admiring  gentleman  who  was  loung- 
ing  around  at  his  leisure, —  having  in  some  mysterious 
manner  passed  the  stage  door-keeper, — by  handing 
him  a  pin  and  remarking,  "  Pin  up  my  skirts."  The 
man's  eye-glass  was  knocked  .out  of  place  by  the  im- 
pertinence of  the  demand,  but  he  took  the  jDin  and 
obeyed  the  lady's  command,  and  this,  too,  notwith- 
standing a  second  female  in  tights,  was  near  by,  who 
could  have  done  the  job  a  thousand  times  better.  It 
was  the  sweet  singer's  little  joke,  though. 

Charlotte  Cushman  and  her  sister  were  playing  in 
Trenton,  New  Jersey,  one  night.  The  bill  announced 
was  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  with  Miss  Cushman  in  her 
afterwards  famous  impersonation  of  the  male  character 
and  her  sister  as  Juliet.  The  ball-room  of  the  town 
which  was  used  as  a  theatre,  when  occasion  required, 
was  sadly  lacking  in  scenery  and  properties.  The  sis- 
ters went  to  work,  however,  and  succeeded  in  ffettin<r 
together  everything  they  needed  for  the  performance, 
except  the  balcony  in  the  garden  scene.  After  looking 
around  they  found  an  old  bed-quilt,  patched,  and 
abounding  in  numerous  colors  ;  it  was  arranged  that  a 
colored  bell-boy  from  an  adjacent  hotel  should,  while 
stationed  in  the  side-scenes,  out  of  view,  hold  up  one 
end  of  the  quilt  while  the  fair  Juliet  supported  the 
other.     The  boy  was  on  hand  in  the    evening,  and 


150  NOT   DOWN   IN   THE   BILL. 

everything  went  swimmingly  mitil  towards  the   end  of 


A-^.NJl^     iiXl.i.i     A.^     ■'   .>i    1-ISS. 


.    »> 


the  scene,  and  in   :i  mo.st  tender  part,  the  darkey  stuck 
his  head   out    from  the    side  and    said;    **I  say,  Miss 


NOT  DOWN   IN   THE   lilLL. 


151 


Gushing,  I  hear  my  bell  ringiii'  an'  Ize  obliged  to  let 
my  side  ob  de  house  drap  !  "  He  dropped  the  quill; 
and    not    only    the  balcony,  but    "the    house" — the 


THE    CALL-BOY  S    EEVENGE. 

audience  —  came  down,  and  that  brought  the  scene  to 
an  abrupt  and  ridiculous  end. 


152  KoT  i)OM'\  IN'  Tin-:  rill. 

Another  occasion  that  was  a  source  of  nifinitc  amuse- 
ment to  an  audience  that  had  been  fully  worked  up  to 
tragic  interest  in  the  play  of  "  Hamlet,"  occurred  at 
Baltimore,  Maryland,  a  short  time  ago.  The  actor 
cast  for  King  Claudius  had  given  some  offence  to  the 
call-boy  —  treated  him  badly  in  the  presence  of  the 
company  —  so  the  boy  made  up  his  mind  to  have  am- 
ple revenge,  lie  got  a  needle,  fitted  a  long  piece  of 
thread  in  it,  and  then  placed  it  in  the  cushion  chair 
that  answered  for  the  King's  throne,  in  such  a  way 
that  when  the  time  arrived,  by  a  simple  jerk  of  the 
string  he  might  move  the  needle  skyward.  He  waited 
until  Claudius  was  supposed  to  be  most  interested  in 
the  scene  before  the  players,  when  jerk  went  the  thread, 
and  King  (Claudius,  with  an  alacrity  unbecoming  roy- 
alty, bounded  out  of  his  chair  as  quickly  as  if  he  had 
suddenly  eat  down  upon  the  sharp  end  of  a  lightning 
rod.  He  dropped  his  sceptre  and  shouting  "  Ouch  !  " 
and  nursing  the  injured  part  of  his  anatomy,  jumped 
and  danced  around  as  if  he  had  just  caught  sight  of 
IlamleCs  father's  ghost.  There  was  an  interruption 
to  the  scene  that  the  audience  filled  in  with  boisterous 
laughter.  After  the  act  the  King,  instead  of  sending 
one  of  his  officers  or  guards  for  the  call-boy,  as  be- 
fitted his  exalted  station,  went  scouring  around  the 
scenery  himself,  muttering  the  wildest  threats  and  ap- 
plying names  to  that  i)()or  boy  that  he  could  hardly 
have  won  for  himself  if  he  lived  to  be  a  thousand  years 
old.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  the  call-boy  did 
not  wait  around  until  the  end  of  that  act. 

Mrs.  Farrel,  who  was  an  actress  of  abjlily  in  her 
time,  after  being  hissed  in  the  part  of  Zaira,  the 
lieroine  of  •*  The  Mourning  Bride,"  and  particularly  in 
the  dying  scene,  rose  from  the  stage,  and,  approaching 
the  foot-lights,  expressed  licr  regret  at  not  having  mer- 


NOT  DOWN  IN  THE   BILL.  153 

ited  the  applause  of  the  audience,  and  explained  that 
she  had  only  accepted  the  part  to  oblige  a  friend,  and 
hoped  she  would  be  excused  for  not  playing  it  better. 
After  this  little  speech  she  once  more  assumed  a  re- 
cumbent position,  and  was  covered  by  the  attendants 
with  a  black  veil. 

On  one  occasion  a  danseuse  was  listening  to  the  pro- 
testations of  an  elderly  lover,  who  was  on  the  point  of 
kissing  her  hand,  when,  as  he  stooped  down  his  wig 
caught  in  the  spangles  of  her  dress.  At  that  moment 
she  was  called  to  the  stage,  and  made  her  appearance  be- 
fore the  audience  amid  general  laughter  and  applause  ; 
for  on  the  front  of  her  dress  was  the  old  beau's  wig 
or  scalp,  hanging  like  a  trophy  from  her  belt.  The 
applause  was  renewed  when  a  bald  head  was  seen  pro- 
jecting from  the  wing  in  search  of  its  artificial  cover- 
ing. Stories,  too,  are  told  of  imprudent  admirers, 
who,  having  excited  the  jealousy  of  the  stage  carpen- 
ter, did  not  take  the  precaution  to  avoid  traps,  and  as  a 
consequence  found  themselves  shot  up  into  the  "  flies," 
or  hastily  dropped  down  to  the  dismal  depths  below 
the  stage. 

It  is  a  very  common  trick  to  let  people  through  a 
trap-door.  I  was  present  several  times  in  the  theatre 
when  victims  were  carried  down  to  the  black  and  un- 
inviting space  below  the  stage.  At  a  benefit  given  to 
a  popular  treasurer  in  St.  Louis,  a  well-known  young 
man  who  was  in  the  liquor  business  was  prevailed  upon 
to  appear  in  the  programme  and  was  put  down  for  a 
lecture  on  temperance.     The  house  was  crowded  that 

night,  and  P H was  there  in  all  the  glory 

and  wealth  of  his  wardrobe,  fully  prepared  to  entertain 
the  audience  for  half  an  hour  or  so.  One  of  the  boys 
had  had  the  pleasure  —  so  he  termed  it  —  of  hearing 
H read  his  lecture  through,   and    he    gave   the 


154 


NOT   DOWN    IN   THE    BILL. 


others  the  cue  for  the  fun.  The  lecturer's  table  was 
placed  just  at  the  edge  of  a  trap,  and  a  trick  candle, 
one  such  as  is  used  in  pantomime,  and  that  keeps  ou 


TnOS.    W.    KEENE. 


growing  taller  and  taller  as  the  clown  in  vain  tries  to 
get  within  reach  of  the  flame,  stood  at  one  side  of  the 
piece  of  furniture.     II  — 


went  on  the  stajxo  bowinff 


NOT  DOWN   IN   THE   BILL.  155 

his  neatest  and  smiling  his  sweetest.  He  was,  of 
course,  received  with  "  thunders  of  apphiuse,"  and 
storms  of  the  same  kind  interrupted  him  at  frequent 
intervals.  At  last  the  place  was  reached  where  the 
fun  was  to  commence.  "  Ban"-!"  went  a  gun  iu  the 
air,  the  thunder  rolled,   there  was  red  fire,  and  the 

floor  parted.     Down  went  H slowly,  and  up  went 

the  candle.  He  was  so  terror-stricken  that  he  could 
do  nothing,  and  was  left  to  grope  his  way  through  the 
darkness  to  the  stairs.  The  language  he  used  when 
he  once  more  found  himself  amons;  his  friends  was 
stronger  and  less  elegant  than  were  the  jjhrases  of  his 
lecture.     He  appears  at  no  more  benefits. 

A  young  society  man  now  of  Cincinnati  was  treated 
in  the  same  way,  a  trap  having  been  left  open  upon 
which  he  stepped  in  the  middle  of  a  play  in  which  he 
took  the  leading  part  with  a  company  of  amateurs, 
when  down  he  went,  to  the  dismay  of  his  friends,  the 
delight  of  the  young  fellows  who  had  "put  up  the 
job,"  and  to  his  own  horror.  In  Leadville,  Col.,  a 
serio-comic  singer  who  had  incurred  the  displeasure  of 
one  of  the  stage  hands,  was  retiring  into  the  side 
scenes  bowing  gracefully  and  kissing  her  hand  to  the 
audience,  when  suddenly  down  went  one  of  her  pink- 
clad  limbs  through  an  open  trap,  and  her  moment  of 
triumph  was  turned  into  one  of  ridicule,  and  in  addi- 
tion to  her  mortification  the  leg  was  broken.  Such 
tricks  are  always  dangerous  and  more  frequently  are 
followed  by  mourning  than  fun. 

Powell,  the  English  actor,  sought  in  vain  one  night 
for  a  "  super"  who  was  wont  to  dress  him,  but  who 
on  this  occasion  had  undertaken  to  play  the  part  of 
Lothario's  corpse  in  "The  Fair  Penitent."  Powell, 
who  took  the  principal  character,  shouted  in  an  angry 
tone  for  Warren,  who  could  not  help  raising  his  head 


156 


KOT   DOWN    IV   THE    RILL. 


from  out  the  colHii  in  which  ho  was  lying,  and  an- 
swering, "  Here,  sir."  "  Come,  then,"  continued 
Powell,  not  knowing  where  the  voice  came  from,  "  or 
I'll  break  every  bone  in  your  body!"     Warren,  know- 


i;mma    rin  iismy. 
ing  that  his   master  was   quite    capable  of   carrying 
the  threat,  sprang  in    his    fi-ight    out    of  the    coflin 
ran  in  his  winding-sheet  across  the  stage. 

The    dying    heroes    and    heroines   of   the   j)rescnt 


out 
and 

day 


NOT    DOWN    IN    THE    BILL.  157 

wait  to  regain  animation  nntil  the  curtain  has  fallen, 
when  they  reappear  in  their  own  private  characters  at 
the  foot-lij^hts.  A  distino-nishecl  tenor,  Sij^nor  Gius:- 
liiii,  being  much  applauded  one  night  for  his  singing  in 
the  "  Miserere  "  scene  of  "  II  Trovatore,"  qnitted  the 
dungeons  in  which  Manrico  is  supposed  to  be  confined, 
came  forward  to  the  public,  bowed,  and  then,  not  to 
cheat  the  executioner,  went  quietly  back  to  prison 
again.  A  much  more  modern  story  of  the  confusion 
of  facts  with  appearances  is  told,  and  with  trnth,  of  a 
distinguished  military  amateur,  who  had  undertaken, 
for  one  occasion  only,  to  play  the  part  of  Don  Gio- 
vanni. In  the  scene  in  which  the  profligate  hero  is 
seized  and  carried  down  to  the  infernal  regions,  the 
principal  character  conld  neither  persuade  nor  compel 
the  demons,  who  were  represented  by  private  soldiers, 
to  lay  hands  on  one  whom,  whatever  part  he  might 
temporarily  assume,  they  knew  avcU  to  be  a  colonel  in 
the  army.  The  demons  kept  at  a  respectful  distance, 
and,  when  ordered  in  a  loud  whisper  to  lay  hands  on 
their  dramatic  victim,  contented  themselves  with  fall- 
ing into  an  attitude  of  attention. 

Jules  Janin,  in  the  collection  of  his  feuilletons  pub- 
lished under  the  title  of  "  Histoire  de  la  Litteraturo 
Dramatique,"  tells  how  in  the  ultra-tragic  tragedy  of 
"  Tragadalbas,"  an  actor,  in  the  midst  of  a  solemn 
tirade,  let  a  set  of  false  teeth  fall  from  his  mouth. 
This  was  nothinsr  more  or  less  than  an  accident  which 
might  happen  to  any  one.  Lord  Brougham  is  said  to 
have  suffered  the  same  misfortune  while  speaking  in 
the  House  of  Lords.  But  the  g-reat  tragedian  showed 
great  presence  of  mind,  and  also  a  certain  indifference 
to  the  serious  nature  of  the  work  in  which  he  was  en- 
gaged, when  he  coolly  stooped  down,  picked  up  the 


158 


NOT    DOWN    l>f   TFIK    Rir,L. 


teeth,  rei)l:KvM]  tluMii  l)ct\vcen  hi.s  jaws,  ami  continued 
his  spcocli. 


.,«f 


7/:.^ 


^h 


■NvxMj^f 


t 


>/  «= 


T..      -'^' 


%miir 


•m' 


n^ 


m 


i 


y*iiir^^=^ 


j.iLi-iAN   i:l.s.-i:ll. 


At  some  French  provincial    theatre,   where  a  piece 
was  being  played   in  which   the  principal  character  was 


NOT   DOWN    IN   THE    BILL. 


159 


that  of  a  blind  man,  the  actor  to  whom  this  part  had 
been  assigned  was  unwell,  and  it  seemed  necessary  to 
call  upon  another  member  of  the  company  to  read  the 
part.     Thus  the  strange   spectacle  was  witnessed   of  a 


JOE    JEFFERSON. 

man  supposed  to  be  totally  blind,  who  read  every  word 
he  uttered  from  a  paper  he  carried  in  his  hand. 

At  an  English  performance  of  "William  Tell,"  the 
traditional  arrow,  instead  of  going  straight  from  TelVs 
bow  to    the    heart — perforated    beforehand  —  of   the 


160 


NOT    DOWN    1\    THE    BILL. 


apple  placed  on  the  head  of  TeJVs  son,  stopped  half 
way  on  the  wire  over  which  it  should  have  travelled 
to  its  destination.     Everythinir,  however,  succeeded  m 


KOLANU    ICKED. 


Kossini's  "William  Tell,"  except  the  apple  incident, 
as  everything  failed  in  "Dennis's  Appius,  except  that 
thunder  which  Dennis  recognized  and  claimed  as  his 
own  when  he  heard  it  a  few  nights  afterward  iu  "  Mac- 


LIZZIE  WEBSTER 


NOT   DOWN   IN   THE    BILL. 


161 


beth."     Yet  it  has  never  been  very  diiEcult  to  repre- 
sent thunder  on  the  stage.     One  of  the  oldest  theatrical 


LAWRENCE    BARRETT. 


anecdotes  is  that  of  the  actor,  who,  playing  the  part 
of  a  bear,  hears  a  clap  of  stage-thunder,  and  mistaking 
it  for  the  real  thinof,  makes  the  sisn  of  the  cross. 


11 


C  HATTER    XI. 


THE    ILLUSIONS    OF   THE    STAGE. 

A  person  can  gain  :in  idea  of  the  extent  of  stage 
decorations  and  the  possibility  of  scenic  ilhisions  in  the 
old  English  theatre  hy  reading  a  description  of  the 
theatre  as  it  existed  in  its  poverty  of  costume  and 
bareness  of  paint  in  the  Elizal)ethan  era.  Rousseau 
has  left  a  description  of  the  Paris  Opera  House  as  he 
saw  it  and  it  will  i)e  found  interesting  to  all  who  are 
acquainted  with  the  methods  and  tiie  absolute  magni- 
tude of  the  theatre  of  the  present  day.  It  must  be 
remembered,  however,  when  considering  the  smallness 
of  the  staire  described  by  Rousseau,  that  it  was  blocked 
up  on  both  sides,  as  was  the  early  English  stage,  by 
the  aristocratic  section  of  the  audience,  who  sat  in  rows 
by  the  side  of  the  singers  while  the  plebeian  music 
lovers  stood  up  in  the  pit.  It  was  in  exactly  the  same 
condition  as  the  English  stage,  when  actors  and  ac- 
tresses were  interrupted  and  even  insulted  by  their 
lordly  patrons  ;  —  as  when  Mrs.  Bollamy  one  evening 
as  she  passed  across  the  stage  at  Dublin  was  kissed 
upon  the  neck  by  a  Mr.  St.  Legcr,  whose  ears  the 
actress  l)oxed  there  and  then  ;  Lord  Chesterfield  rose 
in  his  box  on  this  occasion  and  applauded  ;  the  entire 
audience  followed  his  example  and  at  the  end  of  the 
performance  St.  Leger  was  obliged  by  the  viceroy  to 
make  a  iiublic  apology  to  the  actress. 

"  Imagine,"  writes  Rousseau  about  the  Paris  Opera, 
•*  an  inclosurc  fifteen  feet  broad,  and  long  in  propor- 

(ir,2) 


THE   ILLUSIONS   OF  THE   STAGE.  163 

tion  ;  this  inclosure  is  the  theatre.  On  its  two  sides 
arc  placed  at  intervals  screens,  on  which  are  curiously 
painted  the  objects  which  the  scene  is  about  to  repre- 
sent. At  the  back  of  the  inclosure  hangs  a  great  cur- 
tain, painted  in  like  manner,  and  nearly  always  pierced 
and  torn,  that  it  may  represent  at  a  little  distance 
gulfs  on  the  earth  or  holes  in  the  sky.  Every  one 
who  passes  behind  this  stage,  or  touches  the  curtain, 
produces  a  sort  of  earthquake,  which  has  a  double  ef- 
fect. The  sky  is  made  of  certain  bluish  rags,  sus- 
pended from  poles,  or  from  cords,  as  linen  may  be 
seen  hung  out  to  dry  in  any  washerwoman's  yard. 
The  sun,  for  it  is  seen  here  sometimes,  is  a  lighted 
torch  in  a  lantern.  The  cars  of  the  gods  and  god- 
desses are  composed  of  four  rafters,  secured  and  hung 
on  a  thick  rope  in  the  form  of  a  swing  or  see-saw  ;  be- 
tween the  rafters  is  a  coarse  plank,  on  which  the  gods 
sit  down,  and  in  front  hangs  a  piece  of  coarse  cloth, 
well  dirtied,  which  acts  the  part  of  clouds  for  the 
magnificent  car.  One  may  see  toward  the  bottom  of 
the  machine  two  or  three  foul  candles,  badly  snuffed, 
which,  while  the  greater  personage  dementedly  presents 
himself  swinging  in  his  see-saw,  fumigate  him  with 
incense  worthy  of  his  dignity.  The  agitated  sea  is 
composed  of  long  angular  lanterns  of  cloth  and  blue 
pastel^oard,  strung  on  parallel  spits,  which  are  turned 
by  little  blackguard  boys.  The  thunder  is  a  heavy 
cart,  rolled  over  an  arch,  and  is  not  the  least  agree- 
able instrument  heard  at  our  opera.  The  flashes  of 
lightning  are  made  of  jjinches  of  resin  thrown  on  a 
flame,  and  the  thunder  is  a  cracker  at  the  end  of  a 
fuse.  The  theatre  is,  moreover,  furnished  with  little 
square  traps,  which  opening  at  the  end,  announce 
that  the  demons  are  about  to  issue  from  their  cave. 
When  they  have  to  rise  into  the  air,  little  demons  of 


164 


THE    ILLUSIONS    OF    THE    STAGE. 


stuircd  brown  cloth  are  substituted  for  them,  or  some- 
times real  chimiie^'-swecps,  who  swing  about  sus- 
pended on  ropes,  till  they  are  majestically  lost  in  the 
rags  of  which  I  have  spoken." 

This  sad  condition   of  theatrical  illusions  cannot  bo 


J.   K.  EMMETT. 


rccfarded  otherwise  than  strange  when  it  is  recorded 
that  decorations  were  of  a  higher  order  in  the  reign 
of  Louis  XIV.  Saint-Evremond  is  authority  for  the 
statement   tiial   the  sun  and    moon  wo''f>   so  well   repre- 


THfi   ILLUSIONS   OF   THE   STAGE.  165 

sented  at  the  French  opera  during  this  period  that  the 
ambassador  of  Guinea,  who  assisted  at  one  of  the 
performances,  was  decoyed  into  leaning  forward  in 
his  box  and  religiously  saluting  the  orbs.  Had  Rous- 
seau lived  to  the  present  day,  the  wonders  and  mys- 
teries of  our  stage  would  have  made  his  great  heart 
leap  within  him.  Modern  art  and  modern  mechanism 
have  brought  stage  representations  so  close  to  nature 
that  the  scenes  seem  to  be  small  sections,  either  of 
country  or  city,  mountain  or  vale,  lifted  from  the  face 
of  the  world  and  placed  in  all  their  beauty  at  the 
stajje-end  of  the  theatre.  Mana^-ers  do  not  fear  to  "o 
to  any  length  in  mounting  plays  properly,  and  there 
is  nothing  in  the  outer  world  that  defies  reproduction 
in  the  mimic  sphere.  Steam  is  freely  used ;  fire 
rages  fiercely  through  folds  of  inflammable  canvas  ; 
the  li2;htnino:s  flash  ;  Hendrick  Hudson  and  his  men 
roll  nine-pins  in  the  Catskills,  and  the  low  rumble 
of  the  thunder,  as  the  balls  rattle  down  from  eras:  to 
crag,  is  distinctly  heard  by  the  audience  ;  poor,  de- 
mented old  Lear  cries  to  the  winds  to  crack  and  blow 
their  cheeks,  and  they  do  so  to  his  full  satisfaction  ; 
there  is  genuine  rain  in  the  shipwreck  scene  of  "  The 
Hearts  of  Oak  ;  "  a  plentiful  fall  of  the  beautiful  snow 
for  "  The  Two  Orphans  ;  "  a  perfect  reproduction  of  a 
mountain  rivulet  for  "  The  Danites  ;  "  steamboat  and 
railroad  explosions  of  a  realistic  character  in  every- 
thins; :  an  almost  horizonless  sea  for  the  srreat  raft 
scene  in  "  The  World  ;  "  and  gorgeous  coloring,  rich 
furniture,  choice  bric-a-brac,  rare  paintings  and  the 
Lord  only  knows  what,  for  the  thousand  and  one 
melodramatic  and  society  plays  that  are  now  flooding 
the  stage.  Then  there  are  gems  apparantly  rich 
enough  to  have  come  from  the  treasuries  of  Khedive 
or  Sultan,  and  lobes  so  redolent  of  royalty  in  color 


ir,6 


THE    ILLUSIONS    OF   THE    STAGE. 


and  nuiteiiul  tluit  the  Iciimlo  portion  ot"  the  iiutlicnce 
is  almost  driven  to  distraction  in  adiniriiis:  and  gov- 
cting  them.  Little  docs  the  average  lady  patron  of 
the  theatre  imagine  that  the  finery  she  covets  is  often 
the  product  of  the  artiste's  own  needle,  and  that  the 


JOHN    T.   RAYMOND. 


gaiety  and  glory  of  an  actress's  career  —  with  hundreds 
of  admirers  pouring  diamonds  into  her  lap,  and  hun- 
dreds of  others  feasting  upon  her  charms,  while  many 
hang  with   reverence  upon  the  words  that  fall  from  her 


THE  ILLUSIONS  OF  THE  STAGE.         1G7 

lips  —  is  but  the  merest  of  dreams;  and  that  the 
sister  whose  professional  successes  cause  her  to  look 
upon  the  stage  as  a  place  of  pleasure  only,  may  live 
in  a  tenement  surrounded  by  a  poor  family  to  whose 
support  her  life-efforts  are  devoted  ;  that  she  has  few 
admirers  ;  that  she  is  pure  as  the  fairest  and  purest 
woman  in  private  life,  and  that  her  only  sacrifice  is 
made  to  the  art  which  she  loves  and  to  which  she  has 
consecrated  herself. 

There  are  but  fcAV  who  have  not  an  exao:2i:erated  idea 
of  the  value  of  everything  they  see  upon  the  stage. 
It  is  true  that  many  actresses  are  rich  enough  to  wear 
diamond  necklaces,  and  to  otherwise  sprinkle  their 
persons  with  brilliants  of  the  first  water ;  but  it  is 
equally  true  that  many  others  are  jDoor,  and  that  the 
gems  they  wear  come  from  the  cheap  stock  of  articles 
ke-pt  in  the  theatrical  property-room.  An  amusing 
story  is  told  by  Olive  Logan,  who  was  an  actress, 
about  the  false  value  placed  upon  stage  jewels. 

*'  While  I  was  fulfilling  a  round  of  theatrical  engasfe- 
ments  in  the  South,  during  the  war,"  says  Miss 
Logan,  "  I  w^as  compelled  by  'military  necessity,'  to 
pack  up  my  jewels  and  send  them  to  Cincinnati.  Of 
course  there  were  a  number  of  stao-e  trinkets  in  the 
bag  as  well  as  some  little  jewelry  of  real  value,  but  as 
it  happened  a  fabulous  idea  had  got  afloat  of  the  value 
of  my  little  trinkets,  and  I  was  offered  large  sums  for 
the  carpet  sack,  'just  as  it  stood,'  after  I  had  packed 
it  to  send  it  to  Cincinnati. 

"  '  I'll  give  you  ten  thousand  dollars  for  it  without 
opening,'  said  one  gentleman  ;  '  I  want  those  eaivrings 
for  my  wnfe  ?  ' 

"  'No,'  I  answered,  'no;  those  things  were  given 
me  in  France,  and  I  shouldn't  like  to  part  with 
them.' 


108 


THE    ILLUSIONS   OF   T'lK   STAGE. 


"  'Are  the  ear-rings  in  here?  '  " 
"  *  Yes,'  I  imswerod. 
"  'And  the  bracelet?'  " 
♦'  'Yes.'  " 


KATIIERINE    UQCJEKS. 


"  '  Fifteen  thousand  —  will  you?  '  " 

"  '  No,  no,'  I  answered,  and  the  matter  ended.  I 
couldn't  liclj)  lauifiiinu;,  for  truly  J  niiirlit  have  made  a 
sharp  bargain  if  I    had  wished.      Somebody  would  have 


THE   ILLUSIONS   OF   THE   STAGE.  169 

been  sold,  and  that  somebody  not  myself.  I  returned 
to  Cincinnati  after  my  trip  to  Nashville,  and  there 
found  my  elfects  awaiting  me  in  good  order.  One  day 
in  the  Burnet  House  I  was  accosted  by  a  pleasant- 
lookinsTijentleman,  who  informed  me  that  he  had  taken 
charge  of  the  bag  from  Louisville  to  Cincinnati. 

"  '  Did  not  Mr.  send  it  by  express? '  I  asked. 

"  '  No.  I  was  coming  up,  and  he  thought  it  best  to 
entrust  it  to  me.' 

"  '  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you,'  I  said. 

"  'Indeed,  you  have  cause  to  be,'  he  said,  good- 
naturedly.  '  I  give  you  my  word  it's  the  last  time  I'll 
have  on  my  mind  the  charge  of  fifty  thousand  dollars' 
worth  of  diamonds.'  " 

After  an  English  lady  of  rank  returned  from  the 
continent,  she  found  her  trunl^  robbed  of  its  jewels. 
Detectives  traced  the  jewels  to  a  London  pawnshop, 
where  they  had  been  sold  for  $5.  The  thieves  were 
arrested,  and  when  one  of  them  was  asked  why  he  had 
been  so  foolish  as  to  sell  nearly  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars'  worth  of  diamonds  for  $5,  he  answered : 
*'  Why,  yer  honor,  we  never  thought  for  a  minute  as 
how  they  Avere  real  jewels  ;  we  just  thought  the  lady 
was  some  play-actor  woman,  and  that  the  whole  lot 
wasn't  worth  but  a  few  shillino-s." 

The  trinkets  are  no  more  deceptive  than  are  many 
other  means  employed  to  astonish  and  gladden  the 
public.  The  production  of  thunder,  the  simulation  of 
rain-fall,  the  fictitious  roaring  of  winds,  and  the  mul- 
tiplication of  suns,  moons  and  stars  are  among  the 
numerous  illusions  that  give  to  the  theatre  that  mar- 
vellous charm  under  whose  spell  thousands  are  nightly 
placed  and  held.  In  the  olden  times  these  effects  were 
produced  in  a  simple  and  b}^  no  means  mystifying 
manner,  but  late  years  have   made  them  so  perfect  in 


170 


TIIK    ILLUSIONS    OF    TlIK    STACSK. 


their   appHc.it ion  that  none    but   the    initiated  can  even 
begin  to  think  out  the  sohition  of  the  wondrous  effects 


!■)'■■ 


..-h^.:vlri!| 


JOSEPIIINK    D  OKMK. 


in 
as 


Avliicli    the  Kt:ii:c   now   aboimtls.      A   new  offoct,    such 
the  enormous  stretch  of  sea  and   s^ky  to  be  fouud  in 


THE    ILLUSIONS   OF   THE    STAGE.  171 

"  The  World,"  is  something  that  dramatic  authors  and 
stage  mechanics  are  always  seeking  after  and  are  ghid 
to  find.  The  revolving  tower  in  "  The  Shau<2:hran  " 
was  a  puzzle  to  everybody.  Now  there  are  hundreds 
of  effects  of  this  kind  with  foldinc;  and  vanishing;  scenes 
that  are  even  more  wonderful  than  Boucicault's. tower. 
Viewed  from  the  wings  the  simplicity  of  the  means 
employed  to  produce  these  effects  makes  them  abso- 
lutely laughable.  They  shall  be  explained  in  this 
chapter. 

Thunder-storms  are  common  efforts  at  realism,  and 
they  are  sometimes  simulated  in  a  way  that  makes 
them  appear  to  fall  very  little  short  of  nature.  The 
earliest  style  of  stage  thunder  was  effected  by  vigor- 
ously shaking  a  piece  of  sheet  iron  which  made  a  rat- 
tling and  ear-disturbing  noise.  Even  now  when  a 
show  is  "  on  the  road"  and  a  hall  without  the  usual 
first-class  accessories  must  be  used,  the  audience,  and 
the  actor  too,  must  be  satisfied  with  sheet-iron  thun- 
der. The  modern  invention  is  known  as  the  thunder- 
drum,  and  it  stands  over  the  prompter's  desk  where 
it  can  be  easily  reached  by  a  long  stick  with  a  thick, 
soft  padding  at  the  end  —  similar  to  the  sticks  used  in 
beating  bass-drums.  The  thunder-drum  consists  of  a 
calf-skin  tightly  drawn  over  the  top  of  a  box  frame. 
With  this  instrument  the  low  rumbling  of  distant  thun- 
der or  the  long  roll  of  the  elemental  disturbance  may 
be  attained,  and,  following  the  sharp  rattling  of  the 
shaken  sheet  of  iron  and  the  flash  of  ii^nited  mao;ne- 
sium  an  effect  is  produced  that  completely  awes  the 
simple  citizen  who  knows  nothing  of  the  mechanism  of 
the  stage. 

The  prompter,  too,  who  by  the  way  is  a  most  re- 
sponsible person  among  the  individuals  who  populate 
the  mimic  world,  has  control  of  the  rain  machine. 


172  THE    ILLUSIONS    OI*   THE   STAGE. 

This  is  :i  wooden  cylinder,  about  two  feet  in  diameter, 
and  four  or  five  feet  long.  It  is  filled  with  dried  peas 
which  rattle  ai^ainst  wooden  teeth  in  its  inside  surface, 
as  the  machine,  which  is  in  the  "  flies,"  is  operated  by 
a  belt  running  down  to  the  prompter's  desk.  This 
reminds  me  that  I  have  used  the  expression  "flies" 
several  times  without  explaining  what  is  meant.  The 
"flics"  IS  a  term  used  to  desiijnate  the  scenerv  and 
spaces  above  the  stage,  and  as  there  is  a  great  deal  of 
it,  it  has  as  much  importance  in  a  theatrical  sense  as 
any  other  part  of  the  back  of  the  house.  Well,  to 
resume  the  explanation,  the  prom[)ter  has  the  rain 
machine  in  the  "flies"  fully  under  control  and  can 
turn  out  any  kind  of  a  rain-storm  the  play  may 
require  ;  if  a  swirl  of  the  aqueous  downpour  is  needed, — 
such  a  manifestation  of  wrathy  lachrymoseness  as  you 
find  in  a  storm  that  at  intervals  beats  mercilesslv 
against  your  windows  and  the  side  of  your  house,  — 
one  good,  strong,  sharp  pull  at  the  rope  will  effect  it. 
Less  atrocious  efforts  of  the  elements  may  be  obtained 
with  a  slighter  exertion  of  nmscle  at  the  rope  or  belt. 
The  wind  machine'is  a  very  necessary  adjunct  of  these 
storm  effects,  and  it  is  to  be  found  in  every  large  thea- 
tre, furnishing  "  a  nijjping  and  an  eager  air"  or  one 
of  those  howling  blasts  that  make  night  desolate  and 
day  disastrous.  The  wind  machine  may  bo  moved  to 
any  part  of  the  stage.  Sometimes  it  is  behind  the 
door  of  a  hut  through  which  snow  is  fiercely  driven, 
and  at  other  times  it  may  be  in  the  side  scenes,  or  any 
locality  to  which  or  through  which  the  storm  is  rush- 
ing. It  is  an  awful  funny  thing  to  the  man  at  the  wind 
machine  to  think  of  the  cold  chill  he  sends  down  the 
back  of  the  sensitive  play-goer  as  the  wind  whistles 
across  the  scene  in  which  poor  blind  Louise,  in  the 
"Two  Orphans,"  figures,  or   that  scene   in   "Ours" 


THE   ILLUSIONS   OF  THE   STAGE.  173 

where  Lord  Shendryn  is  at  the  mercy  of  the  pitiless 
storm.     The  wind  that  makes  the  warm  blood  frigid 


FERDINAND    AND    MIRANDA. 

Miranda:  — If  you'll  sit  down, 

I'll  bear  your  log's  the  while. 

I'empest,  Act,  III.,  Scene  1. 

under  such  circumstances  is  very  easily  constructed. 
A  cylinder  from  which  extend  paddles  is  set  in  a  suit- 


174  THE    ILLUSIONS    OF    THE    STAGE. 

able  frame  and  above  its  top  is  stretched  a  ])ieco  of 
grosgraiii  silk.  The  silk  is  stationary,  but  the  cylinder 
and  paddles  are  operated  by  means  of  a  crank  and 
sometimes  by  a  "crank."  Swift  motion  produces 
woeful  gusts  of  the  windy  article,  and  a  steady  blast 
may  be  dui)licated  by  patiently  working  the  machine. 
When  the  property-man  is  driven  to  the  necessity  of 
providing  rain  and  wind  in  theatrical  districts  that  do 
not  boast  of  modern  ap[)liances  ho  obtains  a  rain  eflcct 
by  rolling  bird-shot  over  brown  paper  that  has  been 
pasted  around  a  hoop,  and  tiic  wind  is  raised  by  swing- 
ing around  a  heavv  piece  of  <ras-hose.  This  kind  of 
thinj?  is  called  "  fakiniz;"  the  wind  or  rain. 

When  real  water  is  used  on  the  staiijo  to  simulate 
rain,  as  in  the  lirst  act  of  the  "  Hearts  of  Oak,"  or 
"  Oaken  Hearts,"  as  they  at  one  time  tried  to  call  a 
pirated  edition  of  it,  the  effect  is  obtained  by  carrying 
water  to  the  stage  lofts,  during  the  da}^  where  it  re- 
mains in  a  tank  connected  with  a  long  pierce  of  per- 
forated pipe,  back  of  the  proscenium  border,  and 
stretching  across  the  stage.  At  night  when  the  proper 
time  arrives  the  water  is  allowed  to  run  into  the  pipe, 
from  wliicli  it  of  course  falls  in  numerous  small  streams 
upon  a  rubber  tarpaulin  that  lias  been  stretched  below 
to  receive  it.  So  too  in  mountain  rivulets  with  "  real 
water,  "  as  in  "  The  Danites,"  a  Uiwk  in  the  loft  must 
be  filled  daily  with  water  to  supply  the  nightly  scene. 
In  all  instances  of  this  sort  the  elfect  is  (piite  realistic, 
and  never  fails  to  meet  with  a  liearty  appreciation  by 
the  audience. 

The  snow-storm  is  also  usually  a  i)leasing  stage  pic- 
ture, and  is  brought  about  in  a  most  simi)lo  manner. 
White  paper  is  cut  into  very  small  pieces,  which  are 
carefully  treasured  by  the  jiroperty-man,  whose  duty 
it  is  to  sec  to  everything  of  this  Uind  in  and  around 


THE    ILLUSIONS    OF   THE    STAGE, 


175 


the  sta2:c,  and  who  reo-ards  the  manufacture  of  a  snow- 
storm  as  a  very  slow  and  tedious  piece  of  work.  When 
the  snow  is  ready  it  is  placed  in  what  is  called  the 
snow-box,  a  long  narrow  affair  with  slats  on  the  bottom 


LESTER   \VALLACK. 

leaving  room  enough  for  the  pieces  of  paper  to  sift 
through,  when  the  box  is  given  a  swaying  motion. 
The  contrivance  is  swung  over  the  stage  by  means  of 
two  ropes,  and  is  operated  by  a  third  leading  to  one 
side    of  the  stage.     When  the    chilled    heroine  comes 


176  THE    ILLUSIONS    OF   THE    STAGE. 

upon  the  scene  amid  a  terrible  fall  of  snow  and  draws 
her  thin  garmcnts'tightly  over  her  shoulder,  while  she 
shivers,  the  snow-box  up  above  is  swinging  to  and  fro, 
and  the  white  flakes  are  only  bits  of  pai)cr  frauds  that 
the  property-man  or  an  assistant  will  carefully  sweep 
up  after  the  scene  or  act,  to  do  duty  again  the  follow- 
injr  niijht  and  for  manv  a  nifrht  to  come. 

The  snow-storm  and  the  other  illusions  described 
above  are  only  a  fraction  of  the  things  the  property 
man  has  to  look  after  and  keep  in  order.  He  has 
charge  of  everything  upon  the  stage  and  is  responsible 
for  everything  except  the  scener}'.  When  a  play  is 
running  that  requires  handsome  appointments,  it  is  his 
business  to  provide.  "Within  the  ])ast  decade  or  so  of 
years  it  has  become  the  custom  to  borrow  expensive 
furniture  from  generous  local  dealers  who  are  often 
satisfied  with  the  simple  and  easy  remuneration  of  a 
line  or  two  acknowledging  the  loan,  in  the  programme  ; 
or  a  certain  price  is  paid  for  the  use  of  the  furniture 
during  the  run  of  the  play;  or  the  set  is  purchased 
outriirht  from  the  dealer  and  repurchased  bv  him  at  a 
reduction  when  tlic  theatre  is  done  with  it.  Nearly 
all  theatres,  however,  are  supplied  with  suital)ly  hand- 
some furniture  for  an  oixlinary  society  play,  and  it  is  only 
when  ixorireousnessis  aimed  at  that  manaircrsare  obliired 
to  borrow.  Pistols,  knives,  helmets,  lances,  battle- 
axes,  canes,  cigars,  money,  i)()cket-books,  the  vial  from 
which  Juliet  takes  the  fatal  draught,  the  marble  or 
majolica  j^edestals,  the  rich  vases,  sunflowers  such  as 
are  used  in  the  lesthetic  play  of  "  The  Colonel,"  the 
paste-board  ham,  the  tin  cups,  or  cut  glasses  that  the 
characters  drink  from,  fire-place,  mantel,  and  looking- 
glass —  these,  and  many  other  articles  the  property- 
raan  furnishers  the  players,  either  placing  the  station- 
ary fixtures  on  the  stage,  or  sending  the  call-boy  to 


THE    ILLUSIONS   OF   THE   STAGE. 


177 


the  performers  with  the  articles  they  require.  The 
check-book  that  the  rich  banker  draws  from  his  pocket 
when  he  hands  $100,000,  more  or  less,  over  to  some- 
body else  in  the  play,  the  quill  or  pen  he  writes  the 


# 


CLARA   MORRIS. 


check  with,  and  the  bottle  out  of  which  he  dips  the 
imaginary  ink,  all  come  from  the  property-room,  and 
go  back  to  it  again  after  the  act  is  over.  A  list  of  the 
articles  required  for  a  play  is  furnished  the  property- 


178 


THE    ILLUSIONS    OF    TIIK    STAGE. 


man  when  a  play  is  to  he  put  on,  and  those  articles  ho 
must  have  when  the  prompter  calls  or  sends  for  them. 
Somotimcs  the  property-man  forgets,  and  then  there 
is  trouble  in  the  camp.     It  is  related  that  having  for- 


HELEN    DINOEON. 

gotten  to  provide  a  Jidiet  ^vith  her  vial  of  poison,  in 
time,  the  article  being  culled  for  as  the  actress  was 
about  to  go  on  the  stage,  the  j)roi)erty-inan  snatched 
up  the  first  thing  that  looked  like  !i  vial  that  ho  got  his 
vyo.<,   on.      Tt   was   ;i   l)ottle  from   the  pi'onipter's  dt'«k, 


THE   ILLUSIONS    OF   THE   STAGE.  179 

and  when  Juliet  placed  the  awful  draught  to  her  lips 
and  took  a  pull  at  the  bottle,  she  discovered  to  her 
horror  that  she  had  swallowed  a  dose  of  ink.  The  ac- 
tress, who  tells  the  story  herself  in  her  autobiography, 
said,  she  wanted  to  "swallow  a  sheet  of  blotting- 
paper,"  when  she  made  the  inky  discovery. 

I  find  in  Miss  Los-an's  book  from  which  I  have  before 
quoted  in  this  chapter,  the  following  funny  inventory  of 
properties  furnished  a  new  lessee  of  the  Drury  Lane 
Theatre,  London:  "Spirits  of  wine,  for  flames  and 
apparitions,  £12  2s.  ;  three  and  one-half  bottles  of 
lightning,  £ —  ;  one  snow-storm,  of  finest  French  paper, 
3s.  ;  two  snow-storms  of  common  French  paper,  2s.  ; 
complete  sea,  with  twelve  long  waves,  slightly  dam- 
aged, £1  10s.  ;  eighteen  clouds,'  with  black  edges,  in 
good  order,  12s.,  Gd.  ;  rainbow,  slightly  faded,  25.  ; 
an  assortment  of  French  clouds,  flashes  "of  li^htnino; 
and  thunder-bolts,  15s.  ;  a  new  moon,  slightly  tar- 
nished, 15s.  ;  imperial  mantle,  made  for  Cyrus,  and 
subsequently  worn  by  Julius  Ctesar  and  Henry  VIII., 
10s.  ;  Othello's  handkerchief,  6tZ.  ;  six  arm-chairs 
and  six  flower-plots,  v/hich  dance  country  dances,  £2." 
The  same  author  adds  another  quotation  that  gives  a 
better  idea  of  the  quantity  and  character  of  the  pro- 
perty-man's possessions,  saying:  — 

"  He  has  charge  of  all  the  movables  and  has  to  exer- 
cise the  greatest  ingenuity  in  getting  them  up.  His 
in-ovince  is  to  preserve  the  canvas  water  from  o-ettino- 
wet,  keep  the  sun's  disk  clear  and  the  moon  from 
getting  torn;  he  manufactures  thunder  on  sheet  iron, 
or  from  parchment  stretched  drum-like  on  a  frame ;  he 
prepares  boxes  of  dried  peas  for  rain  and  wind,  and 
huge  watchman's  rattles  for  the  crash  of  fallino-  tow- 
ers.  He  has  under  his  charge  demijohns  for  the  fall 
of  concealed   china    in    cupboards ;    speaking    trum- 


180  THE   ILLUSIONS   OF   THE    STAGE. 

pets  to  imitate  the  growl  of  ferocious  wild  beasts  ;  penny 
whij^tles  for  the  '  cricket  on  the  hearth ;'  powdered 
rosin  for  liij^htning  flashes,  where  gas  is  not  used  ;  rose 
pink,  for  the  l)lood  of  patriots  ;  money,  cut  out  of  tin  ; 
fincl}'^  cut  bits  of  paper  for  fatal  snow-storms  ;  ten-pin 
balls,  for  the  distant  mutterings  of  a  storm;  bags  of 
gold  containing  bits  of  broken  glass  and  pebbles,  to 
imitate  the  musical  ring  of  coin  ;  balls  of  cotton  wad- 
ding for  apple  dumj)lings  ;  links  of  sausages,  made  of 
painted  flannel ;  snm[)tuous  boquets  of  papier  mache  ; 
block-tin  rings  with  painted  beads  puttied  in  for  royal 
signets  ;  crowns  of  Dnt(^h  gilding  lined  with  red  ferret ; 
broomstick  handles  cut  u[)  for  truncheons  for  command  ; 
brooms  themselves  for  witches  to  ride  ;  branches  of 
cedar  for  Birnam  wood  ;  dredijini;  l)oxes  of  flour  for 
the  fate-desponding  lovers  ;  vermilion  to  tip  the  noses 
of  jolly  landlords  ;  pieces  of  rattan  silvered  over  for 
fairy  wands  ;  leaden  watches,  for  gold  repeaters  ;  dog- 
chains  for  the  necks  of  knighthood,  and  tin  spurs  for 
its  heels  ;  armor  made  of  leather,  and  shields  of  wood  ; 
fans  for  ladies  to  cofjuet  behind  ;  quizzing-glasses,  for 
exquisites  to  ogle  with;  legs  of  mutton,  hams,  loaves 
of  bread  and  pluni-puildings,  all  cut  from  canvas,  and 
stuffed  with  sawdust;  together  with  all  the  pride, 
pomp,  and  circumstance  of  a  dramatic  display.  Such 
is  the  pro[)erty-nian  of  a  theatre.  Ho  bears  his  honors 
meekly  ;  lie  mixes  molasses  and  water  for  wine  and 
darkens  it  a  little  shade  for  brandy  ;  is  always  busy 
behind  the  scenes,  but  is  seldom  seen,  unless  it  is  to 
clear  the  stage,  and  then  what  a  shower  of  yells  and 
hisses  does  he  receive  from  the  galleries  I  The 
thoughtless  gods  cry  '  Supe  I  Supe  !  '  which  if  intended 
for  an  abV)reviation  of  superior  or  superfine,  may  bo 
opposite,  but  in  no  other  view  of  the  case.  What 
would  a  theatre  be  without  a  property-mau  ?     A  world 


THE   ILLUSIONS   OF   THE   STAGE. 


181 


without  a  sun  *  *  *  Kings  would  be  trunch- 
eonless  and  crownless  ;  brigands  without  spoils  ;  old 
men  without  canes  and  powder ;  Harlequin  without 
his   hat ;  Macduti*  without   his  leafy  screen ;  theatres 


SCOTT-SIDDONS. 


would  close  —  there  would  be  no  tragedy,  no  comedy, 
no  farce  without  him.  Jove  in  his  chair  was  never 
more  potent  than  he.  An  actor  might,  and  often  does 
get  along  without  the  words  of  his  part,  but  not  with- 


182  THE    ILLUSIONS    OF   THE    STAGE. 

out  the  pro[)orties.  What  strange  quandaries  have  we 
seen  the  Garricks  and  Siddonses  of  our  stajje  cret  into 
when  the  i)ropertj-nian  hipsed  in  his  duty  !  We  liave 
seen  Ronico  distracted  because  the  bottle  of  poison  was 
not  to  be  found;  Virginius  tear  liis  hair  because  tiio 
butcher's  knife  was  not  ready  on  the  shaml)les  ;  Baillie 
Nicol  Jarv'e  n(>nplussed  l)ecause  there  was  no  red-iiot 
poker  to  singe  the  Tartan  fladdic  with  ;  Macbeth 
frowning  because  the  Eightli  Apparition  did  not  bear  a 
glass  to  show  him  any  more  ;  William  Tell  in  agony 
because  there  was  no  small  ai)ple  for  Gcsler  to  i)ick  ; 
the  First  Murderer  in  distress  because  there  was  no 
blood  for  his  fiice  ready  ;  Ilecato  fuming  like  a  hell- 
cat because  her  car  did  not  mount  easil}' ;  Richard  the 
Third  grinding  his  teeth  because  the  clink  of  iiammers 
closing  rivets  up  was  forgotten  ;  Hamlet  l)rought  up 
all  standing  because  there  was  no  i2;obk't  to  drink  the 
poison  from,  and  Othello  stabbing  lago  with  a  candle- 
stick because  he  had  no  other  sword  of  S[)aiii,  tiie 
Ebro's  tem[)c'r,  to  do  the  deed  with.  So,  the  property- 
man  is  no  insignificant  personage  —  he  is  the  main- 
spring which  sets  all  tlie  work  in  motion  ;  and  an  actor 
had  better  have  a  bad  epitaph  when  dead  than  his  ill 
will  while  living." 


CHAPTER    XII. 


MORE    OF   THE    MYSTERIES. 


A  few  companies  have  done  away  entirely  with  the 
canvas-outlined  turkey  and  the  sawdust-stuifed  dump- 
ling, and  have  meals  that  figure  in  the  play  served  on 
the  stage  piping  hot  from  some  neighboring  restau- 
rant. There  is  genuine  wine  too,  and  often  it  is  cham- 
pagne of  such  quality  that  its  sparkle  makes  the  eyes 
of  the  tipplers  in  the  audience  dance,  and  their  mouths 
run  water.  In  this  and  many  other  ways  the  desire  to 
get  as  near  to  the  real  thing  as  possible  in  art  has 
caused  encroachments  on  the  property-man's  terri- 
tory, and  gradually  his  treasures  are  decreasing.  Still 
his  occupation  is  not  as  gone  as  Othello's,  Travelling 
combinations  have  their  own  property-man,  and  the 
theatres  each  carry  one.  Besides  the  magnificent 
work  of  producing  snow-storms  from  pajjer,  etc.,  there 
are  minor  details  of  his  business  that  he  brino-s  as 
much  art  to  as  the  average  actor  and  actress  take  to 
the  stage.  He  builds  a  warrior's  helmet  from  simple 
brown  maniUa  paper  and  makes  a  pair  of  bronze  urns 
in  the  same  cheap  way,  although  they  may  appear  to 
be  worth  $300.  Bronze  figures,  too,  are  obtained 
from  the  same  material ;  also  flower-pots,  mantel- 
pieces, and  such  things.  He  goes  about  the  work  like 
an  artist.  He  first  makes  a  model  in  clay  of  the  arti- 
cle—  say  it  is  an  urn.  This  done  he  builds  a  wooden 
box  around  it,  and  mixing  plaster  of  paris  and  water 
pours  the  mixture  between  the  box  and  model  where 

(183) 


184 


M()R15   or  TlIK   MVsTEniR.^i. 


it  is  allowed  to  harden.  After  the  day  mould  has  been 
withdrawn  the  plaster  of  paris  mould  is  greased,  and 
five  successive  coats  of  small  pieces  of  thick  brown 
paper  that  have  been  soaked  in  water  are  carefully  laid 


JOHN   PAKSELLE. 


on.  A  laver  of  Tuiisliu  and  "rluo  follows,  and  three 
more  coats  of  the  brown  ])apcr.  ^Vh(Ml  the  applica- 
tion lias  tlioronghly  di'iccl,  tlic;  last  three  layers  of 
brown  j)apcr  are  removed,  and  the  nni  which  has  been 


•  MORE  oi'  tKe  mysteries.  185 

four  days  in  process  of  completion  is  ready  for  use. 
Goblets  for  royal  or  knightly  banquets  are  manufac- 
tured by  the  property-man  in  the  same  manner.  Often 
has  a  golden  goblet,  ewer,  amphora,  or  salver  fallen 
to  the  floor  from  the  hands  of  awkward  Ganymedes 
and  Hebes  without  creating  any  consternation  among 
the  gathered  gallants,  or  making  a  sound  loud  enough 
to  ripple  above  the  lightest  notes  of  the  orchestra. 
These  properties  are  light,  but  very  durable,  and  well 
withstand  the  harsh  and  careless  treatment  they  fre- 
quently receive.  Often  the  entire  "  banquet  set  "  is 
made  of  paper,  the  skilled  w^ork  of  the  worthy  prop- 
erty-man, who  holds  probably  the  most  independent 
place  in  the  theatre,  being  obliged  to  carry  no  article 
to  anybody  —  not  even  a  foreign  star  —  but  leaves  that 
menial  work  to  the  stage  manager,  prompter,  or  call- 
boy. 

Moonlight  is  one  of  the  most  poetical  and  beautiful 

of  stage  efiects.  The  first  work  in  producing  it  is 
done  by  the  scenic  artist,  who  places  a  moonlight  pic- 
ture on  his  canvas.  The  calcium  liojht  filtered  throuo;h 
a  ofreen  glass  fills  the  foreo-round  with  its  mellow  influ- 
ence.  At  the  back  of  the  stas^e  a  row  of  aro;and 
burners  with  light  green  shades,  gives  the  faint  and  soft 
touches  that  fill  in  the  distance.  A  "ground  piece" 
or  strip  of  scenery  runs  along  the  floor  at  the  back  of 
the  stage,  and  just  under  the  main  scene  hides  the 
**  green  mediums,"  as  the  shaded  burners  are  called, 
from  the  eyes  of  the  audience.  Sometimes  the  row  is 
above  the  stage,  and  protected  from  sight  by  the 
*'  sky-borders."  Silver  ripples  on  the  surface  of 
water,  and  twinkling  stars  in  the  sky  are  frequently 
made  features  of  moonlight  scenery.  The  twinkling 
stars  are  bright  spangles  hung  by  pin-hooks  to  the 
scenes,  and  the  ripples  are  only  slits  in  the  water  can- 


180  MORE   OF   THE    MYSTERIES. 

vas,  bt'liiiul  which  an  endless  towel  with  slits  cut  in  its 
surface  and  a  stron<x  jxasliuht  between  the  rollers  and 
the  sides  of  the  towel,  is   made    to  revolve.     Every 
time  the  slits  in  the  towel  came  opposite  the   slits  in 
the   canvas   the   light  shines  through   and    the   silver 
dance  upon  the  lake  or  river.     When  the  slits  in  the 
towel  arc  made  to  move  upward   the  ripples  seem  to 
lift  their  silvery  tops  towards  the  bending  sky.     Moon- 
rise,  which  is    always    an  agreeable  illusion,  even    to 
those  who  know   how  it  is  done,  is  ellccted  by  lifting 
the  "  moon-box,"  as  it  is  carried  slowly  up   behind  a 
muslin  canvas,  upon  which  heavy  paper  is  fastened  to 
represent  clouds.     Tiie   "moon-box"   is   an  ordinary 
cubial  affair  with  a  round   liole  at  one  end,  over  Avhich 
a  strip  of  muslin  is  fastened,  and   l)ehind  which  is   a 
strouij  illumination.     Two  wires  from  above  are  man- 
ipulatcd  causing  the  moon  to  move  through  its  orbit. 
When  its  j^ath  lies  behind  one  of  the  paper  clouds  the 
fraudulent  Cynthia,  just  like  the  genuine  queon  of  the 
heavens,  fails  to  shine,  but  as  soon  as  she  emerges  from 
the  dark  spot  and  the  outer  ruin  of  the  illnminated  cir- 
cular surface  of  the  "  moon-box  "  touches  the  white 
muslin  once   again,  she  is  the   fair  queen  of  night  and 
the  young  lovers  in  the  audience  feel  as  happy  as  if 
they  were  at  home  swinging  on  the  front  gate,  while 
pa  is  at  the  club  and  ma  is   entertaining  an  amiable 
cousin  in  the  second  jjarhu-.     The  flushed  countenance 
of  the  moon,  as  she  is  just  rising  frowi  "^rhctis's  arms, 
as  you  see  her  every  night  when  she  is  taking  her  first 
dainty  steps  up  the  eastern  sky,  is  obtained  by  having 
the  lower  edge  of  the  muslin  painted  red  and  grad- 
ually 1)lending  with  the  whites  while  floating  clouds  are 
oidy  the  result  of  hanging  or  sewing  on  the  gauze  drop 
in  front  of  the  muslin  screen,  pieces  of  muslin  or  canvas 
cut  into  the  proper  shapes.     The  change  from  day  to 


MORK    OF    TIIK    MYSTERIES. 


187 


night,  or  vice  versa,  effects  that  surpass  the  other  in 
real  beauty,  and  also  in  attractiveness  for  the  public, 
is  produced  by  having  a  drop  twice  the  usual  length, 
painted  one  half  in  a  sunset  and  the  other  half  in  moon- 


'>; 


SOL    SMITH    RUSSELL. 


light.  If  the  change  from  day  to  night,  which  is  the 
more  effective,  is  desired,  the  sunset  sky  occupies  the 
upper  half  of  the  drop  —  that  is  nothing  but  the  sunset 
sky  is  presented  to  the  eyes  of  the  audience.     The  dis- 


188  MORE   OF   THR   MYSTERIES. 

t<aiK'C  sccnciy  is  painted  upon  a  separate  piece  and  the 
outlines  of  the  objects  are  sharply  cut  out  so  that  the 
sunset  sky  can  be  seen  above  the  irregular  outline  of 
the  horizon.  A  gauze  drop  hangs  in  front  to  give  the 
picture  the  required  hazy  effect,  and  red  lights  give  a 
sunset  gl()\^o  the  entire  scene.  Rolling  up  the  back 
drop  the  change  is  made  slowly  and  carefully  until  the 
moon  is  discovered  in  the  night  half  of  the  sky  and 
goes  \ip  Avith  it,  while  the  usual  moonlight  mediums 
arc  brought  into  requisition  to  increase  the  brightness 
of  the  view. 

There  are  two  ways  of  producing  ocean  waves. 
Sometimes  a  piece  of  blue  cloth  with  dashes  of  white 
paint  for  wave-crests  covers  the  entire  stage,  when  the 
necessary  motion  of  the  waters  is  obtained  by  having 
men  or  boys  stationed  in  the  entrances  to  sway  the  sea. 
Again,  each  billow  may  bo  made  to  show  separate 
with  the  alternate  rows  of  billows  rearinij  their  white 
crests  between  the  tips  of  the  row  on  each  side. 
These  billows  are  rocked  backward  and  forward  —  to 
and  from  the  audience  —  while  the  ocean's  roar  comes 
from  a  wooden  box  lined  with  tin  and  containinsr  a 
small  quantity  of  bird  shot.  The  desired  sound  is 
produced  by  rolling  the  box  around. 

Anybody  who  has  witnessed  Milton  Noble's  ♦'  Phoe- 
nix "  properly  placed  on  the  stage,  or  "The  Streets 
of  New  York,"  must  have  been,  the  first  time,  both 
terrified,  and  still  somewhat  delighted,  with  the  fire 
pcenes.  Of  late  years  tiicy  have  been  made  wonder- 
fully thrilling,  and  almost  perfect  fac-similes  of  the 
Fire  Fiend  himself.  The  scene-painter  gets  up  his 
bouse  in  three  pieces.  The  roof  is  swung  from  the 
"flies";  the  fi'ont  wall  is  in  two  pieces,  a  jagged 
line  running  from  near  the  top  of  one  side  of  the  scene 
to  the  lower  end  of  the  other  side.     If  shutters  are  to 


MORE    OF   THE    MYSTERIES. 


189 


fall,  as  in  "  The  Streets  of  New  York,"  they  are  fas- 
tened to  the  scene  with  "quick  match,"  a  preparation 
of  powder,  alcohol,  and  lamp  wick.  Iron  window  and 
door  frames  are  covered  with  oakum  soaked  in  alcohol 


ROSK    COGHLAN. 

or  other  fire-quickening  fluid.  Steam  is  made  to 
represent  smoke,  and  the  steam  itself  is  obtained  by 
dissolving  lime  in  water.  A  platform  from  the  side 
aff'ords  a  footing  to  the  firemen  who  are  fisfhtino:  the 
flames  in  the  very  midst  of  the  burnhig  buildina;,  and 


190  MOKE    OF    THE    MYSTERIES. 

an  endless  towel  with  painted  flames  keeps  moving 
across  the  picture  after  the  first  wall  and  roof  have 
been  allowed  to  fall  in,  while  red  tire  plays  upon  the 
whole  picture  and  "  flash  torches  "  are  made  to  repre- 
sent leaping  tongues  of  flame.  There  appears  to  be  a 
great  deal  of  danger  from  the  operation  of  a  scene  of 
this  kind,  but  if  proper  care  is  taken  the  danger  is  as 
worthy  of  consideration  as  that  attending  the  presenta- 
tion of  a  parlor  scene. 

"The  World"  has  been  pronounced  a  novelty  in 
scenic  efl*ects.  I  went  l)chind  the  scenes  to  see  how 
the  thing  worked,  and  had  the  i)k'asure  of  finding  out 
all  about  it.  The  play  is  in  seven  set  scenes.  The  first 
had  nothing  unusual  in  it  except  that  the  ship  with  full 
steam  on  and  the  dock  was  produced  very  artistically. 
The  ship  and  the  buildings  were  in. profile  with  a  good 
stretch  of  sky  beyond,  that  was  all.  Next  came  the. 
explosion  scene,  when  the  vessel  was,  by  the  sui)posed 
use  of  dynamite,  sent  flying  in  splinters  in  mid-ocean, 
and  all  save  four  souls  went  down  to  the  briny  depths. 
The  mere  ship  setting,  with  its  boilers,  iis  hatches,  its 
galleries,  spars  and  guys,  was  woi-thy  of  admiration. 
While  the  pcrfoi'iniM-s  were  hading  up  to  the  i)oint 
where  the  awfni  and  fateful  moment  comes,  a  man  sat 
quietly  behind  the  scenes  rea<ly  to  fire  an  anvil  of 
guns,  each  charged  to  the  muzzle  ;  men  stood  at  the 
numerous  openings  in  the  rear,  and  men  with  chem- 
ical red-lire  occupied  the  side-scenes,  while  others  with 
powdered  lycopodiiim  were  under  the  stage  beneath  a 
half-dozen  grated  openings.  At  the  left,  in  the  wings, 
stood  an  array  of  *'  supers,"  to  rush  on  and  increase 
the  connnotion  when  the  shock  came.  When  the 
heavy  villain  announced  that  there  was  a  dynamite 
machine  on  board,  and  the  captain  gave  orders  to  his 
men  to  ovcrhairt  evervthing  below  and  try  to  find  it  — 


MORE    OF   THE   MYSTERIES.  191 

then  the  thunder  came.  Bang  went  the  young  can- 
nons in  the  rear.  The  stage  shook,  and  the  theatre 
seemed  ready  to  fall  about  our  ears ;  the  females 
shrieked  ;  the  "  supers  "  rushed  on  and  shouted  ;  then 
came  the  leaping  flames  from  below  and  from  the 
sides,  until,  finally,  the  whole  picture  was  one  burning 
srlow  and  whirl  of  smoke,  and  the  curtain  came  down 
in  time,  I  suppose,  to  prevent  a  panic,  for  women 
shrieked,  and  men  got  up  from  their  seats  to  flee  from 
the  theatre.  Act  three  brought  the  grandest  illusion 
of  all  —  the  great  raft  scene.  This  picture  shows  a 
raft  tossing  on  a  rolling  ocean  with  a  vast  stretch  of 
sea  on  all  sides,  the  sky  and  waters  apparently  meeting 
as  far  away  as  if  they  were  realities  and  not  mere  at- 
tempts at  nature.  This  scene  always  struck  me  with 
awe  until  I  saw  it  from  the  stage.  The  second  act 
at  an  end,  the  stage  mana2:er  has  the  stao:e  cleared  in 
a  short  time  ;  then  the  carpenter  and  his  assistants  go 
to  work.  A  "  ground  piece  "  of  sea  is  placed  across 
the  stao;e  at  the  first  entrance.  All  the  side  scenes  are 
removed  and  a  huoh  curtain  of  lio;ht  blue  is  huno-  in  a 
semi-circle  from  one  side  of  the  stage,  up  around  to 
the  rear  and  then  down  to  the  other  side.  A  couple  of 
men  now  come  down  to  the  centre  of  the  stage  bearing 
something  that  looks  like  an  old  barn-door  with  four 
swinging  legs,  one  at  each  corner.  A  pivot  is  fastened  on 
the  stage  ;  the  barn  door  is  balanced  on  it  and  down 
through  four  small  openings  in  the  stage  go  the  four 
arms  or  legs,  at  points  corresponding  with  the  four 
corners  of  the  door.  I  can  see  now  that  the  upper 
side  of  the  door  bears  a  slio:ht  resemblance  to  a  rude 
raft,  the  timber  being  artistically  painted  upon  its  sur- 
face. Somebody  sticks  a  pole  in  the  side  up  the  stage. 
A  box  is  placed  at  one  end  for  the  villain  who  is  among 
the  saved  ;  a  cushion  is  furnished  at  the  other  end  for 


102 


MORE    OF    THK    MYSTERIES. 


the  young  lady  who  phiys  Iho  lad,  Ned;  Old  Otven, 
the  miner,  lies  along  the  lower  side  and  Sir  Clement 
Ihmdnrjford,  the  hero,  takes  his  stand  at  the  mast, 
pale  and  haggard  with  hunger  and  anxiety.     The  sea 


THE    RAFT    KCENE. 


cloth,  covering  the  stage  except  for  a  rectangular 
aperture  that  goes  around  the  raft  and  has  its  edges 
fastened  to  the  raft,  is  spread  ;  hoys  crawl  under  tho 


MORE    OF   THE    MYSTERIES.  193 

sea  and  lie  upon  their  backs ;  men  stand  in  the 
side  scenes  holding  the  ragged  edges  of  the  already 
white-crested  sea.  Everything  is  ready  now,  and  amid 
the  right  kind  of  music  the  curtain  goes  up  on  the 
magnificent  raft  scene.  Four  men  under  the  stage 
have  hold  of  the  four  pieces  hanging  from  the  corners 
of  the  raft,  and  by  pulling  in  exact  line  give  it  the 
motion  of  the  heaving  sea  ;  the  men  in  the  side  scenes 
agitate  the  blue  cloth  and  the  boys  beneath  it  toss  and 
roll  the  cloth  with  hands  and  feet.  Old  Owen  dies 
before  Sir  Clement  sights  a  ship  no  bigger  than  a  star 
away  off  in  the  horizon.  He  ties  a  rag  to  the  mast  for 
a  signal ;  but  the  ship  keeps  moving  past,  until  at  last, 
to  the  despair  of  all  on  board  the  raft,  it  is  about  to 
dip  below  the  horizon.  But  it  suddenly  tacks  ;  there 
is  a  tiny  rocket  seen  curving  in  the  air ;  the  ship  has 
noticed  the  signal  of  distress  and  down  comes  the  cur- 
tain upon  the  happy  trio  left  alive  on  board  their  storm- 
tossed  and  frail  raft.  Passing  over  two  acts  that  are 
only  eventful  the  sixth  comes,  which  represents  the 
yard  of  a  lunatic  asylum,  with  two  great  walls  on 
either  side  of  an  iron  gate  that  is  set  well  up  the  stage, 
and  through  which  a  stretch  of  the  Eiver  Thames  and 
the  overhanging  sky  are  seen.  Sir  Clement,  who  is 
the  rightful  heir  to  certain  property,  has  been  confined 
here  through  the  machinations  of  his  brother,  who  is  in 
possession,  and  of  another  scoundrel.  Here,  though, 
the  hero  makes  his  escape  by  knocking  the  officers  right 
and  left  and  bounding  through  the  gate  ;  in  a  moment 
the  walls  part  and  a  house  with  cornices  and  wide  pro- 
jections folds  together  like  a  stuffed  valentine  that  has 
been  sat  upon.  One  of  the  walls  moves  off  the  stage 
to  the  left,  the  other  to  the  ris^ht,  each  movinsr  in  an 
arc  of  a  circle,  and  the  whole  disappearing  from  the 
stage,  while  Sir  Clement  is  discovered  paddling  safely 


194  MORE    OF   THE    MYSTERIES. 

down  tho  Thames  from  his  pursuers.  The  walls  are 
moved  from  tho  stage  through  tho  agency  of  men 
stationed  inside.  Rollers  are  provided  for  tho  scenic 
structures,  and  there  are  two  men  inside  of  each  piece, 
tho  one  in  advance  having  a  lookout  hole  and  acting  as 
guide.  The  only  thing  attractive  in  the  last  act  is  an 
elevator  in  the  Palace  Hotel.  This  is  a  simple  me- 
chanical eftect,  however,  and  needs  no  explanation.  I 
should  have  said  in  describing  the  sea  that  the  horizon 
rises  gradually  from  the  stage  to  a  height  of  about 
three  feet  at  the  back,  and  the  sail  that  is  sighted  is  a 
tiny  ship  mounted  on  a  frame  work  on  rollers  and 
pulled  across  tho  stage  by  a  small  cord.  This  raft 
scene  is  all  that  has  been  claimed  for  it,  and  the  illu- 
sion has  not  its  equal  on  the  stage.  The  revolving 
tower  in  "  The  Shaughraun,"  and  the  vanishing  scene 
in  "  Youth,"  are  both  worked  in  the  same  manner  as 
the  lunatic  asylum  walls  in  ♦'  The  World." 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


THE    ARMY    OF    ATTACHiSS. 


I  have  already  written  about  the  property-man,  his 
many  duties,  and  the  great  responsibility  that  rests 
upon  him.  I  have  also  written  about  the  prompter, 
and  the  vast  amount  of  work  he  is  required  to  do.  But 
there  remain  behind  the  scenes  and  in  the  body  of  the 
house,  other  persons  who  go  to  make  up  the  grand 
army  of  theatrical  attaches,  and  whose  place  in  the 
amusement  world  is  one  of  some  importance,  as  they 
are  the  adjuncts  without  which  the  drama  would  be 
left  naked  of  its  present  beauty  and  splendor  and  the 
circumstances  under  which  it  would  be  patronized 
would  be  full  of  inconvenience  and  discomfort.  The 
door-keepers  of  theatres  are  often  interesting  charac- 
ters. Sometimes  they  have  been  selected  outside  the 
ranks  of  the  profession,  when,  of  course,  they  have 
little  more  to  tell  you  about  than  the  habits  and  pecu- 
liarities of  the  theatre-going  public  ;  but  many  of  them 
are  broken-down  actors, — actors  who  have  been 
"crushed,"  and  in  whose  better  days  vistas  of 
unlimited  hope  opened  before  their  dazzled  vision. 
These  are  full  of  reminiscences  of  the  old-time  saints 
of  the  sock  and  buskin.  If  one  could  believe  all  they 
have  to  say,  these  victims  of  circumstances  could  be 
looked  upon  as  individuals  whose  destiny  it  had 
originally  been  to  knock  their  shiny  stove-pipe  hats 
against  the  stars  of  heaven,  but,  by  some  strange  fatal- 
ity, had  their  backs  broken  and  their  majestic  tread 

(195) 


lOG  THE   AUMY    OF   ATTACHES. 

lamed,  so  that  now  they  can  only  shuffle  into  a  frce- 
hnK-li  saloon  and  bend  their  necks  over  the  counter  as 
they  lovingly  embrace  a  schooner  of  beer.  There  is 
always  room  at  the  bottom  for  the  unfortunates  of  the 
profession,  and  they  find  such  provision  usually  made 
for  them,  as  taking  tickets  at  Uie  door,  or  working 
outside  among  the  newspaper  boys  in  the  capacity  of 
agent.  The  treasurer  of  a  theatre  and  the  ticket  seller, 
who,  in  the  broad  sense  of  the  word,  may  be  looked 
U})on  as  attaches,  are  people  that  all  patrons  of  thea- 
tres arc  familiar  with.  They,  with  the  door-keeper, 
must  in  the  blandest  manner  at  their  command  resist 
the  advances  of  the  very  numerous  dead-heads.  A 
courteous  refusal  is  always  deemed  the  best,  but  fre- 
quently the  harshest  treatment  must  be  resorted  to  to 
get  rid  of  this  theatrical  nuisance,  of  whom  I  shall  take 
occasion  to  speak  later  on,  as  well  as  of  the  free-pass 
system.  The  treasurer  of  a  theatre  is  always  on  terms 
of  intimacy  with  the  professionals  who  frequent  his 
house,  and  is  usually  a  jolly-featured,  good-natured 
man  who  knows  how  to  entertain  his  friends,  to  retain 
the  good  o[)ini()n  of  his  manager,  while  filling  up  the 
ticket-box  with  ptisses,  and  who  understands  and  ap- 
preciates the  full  value  of  the  saying  that  a  soft  answer 
turneth  aside  wrath.  His  salary  ranges  from  $25  to 
$50  a  week,  while  a  good  ticket-seller,  who  frecjucntly 
is  made  to  do  all  llic  hard  work,  may  be  iiad  for  $12 
or  $15.  A  door-k('e})('r  is  i)aid  iVoin  $10  to  $15  a 
"Week. 

The  great  American  type  of  youthliil  citizen,  with  all 
the  manners  and  dignity  of  old  age  and  the  advisory 
qualities  of  a  Nestor,  is  the  theatrical  usher  —  the 
young  chap  who  takes  your  reserved  seat  ticket  with  a 
smile  full  of  malignity  and  succeeds  in  getting  you 
into  the  wrong  chair  and  almost  into  a  prize  fight  with 


THE    ARMY   OF   ATTACHES. 


197 


every  man  who  comes  into  the  same  row  of  seats.  He 
does  this  gracionsly  and  with  such  an  exhibition  of 
carefulness  in  comparing  the  number  on  your  coupon 
with  the  number  of  the  chair,  that  you  actually  feel 
ashamed  of  yourself  to  have  made  a  mistake  after  what 


MINNIE    HAUK. 


appeared  to  you  to  be  an  honest,  vigorous,  and  suc- 
cessful effort  to  show  you  what  was  right.  The  ushers 
in  Western  cities  are  mere  boys  in  uniform  ;  in  the 
East    they    are   3'oung    men,  and    at    Haverly's,    Wal- 


198  THE   ARMY   OF   ATTACHES. 

lack's,  ami  other  first-class  New  York  establishments, 
you  will  find  them  in  full  evening  dress  with  as  large 
an  exhibition  of  shirt  front  as  the  swellcst  of  the 
society  noodles  who  are  among  the  patrons  of  the 
house.  The  usher  gets  $G  or  $8  a  week,  but 
impresses  the  stranger  as  if  he  owned  an  interest  in  the 
theatre.  lie  may  sell  calico  or  run  a  lemonade  stand 
during  the  day,  but  at  night  he  is  master  of  all  he  sur- 
veys, talks  of  the  actresses  as  familiarly  as  if  he  M-^ere 
a  blood  relation,  tries  to  make  you  ])elieve  he  has  *'  a 
solid  girl  "  in  the  ballet,  and  will  offer  you  any  favor, 
from  an  introduction  to  the  star  to  a  dozen  matinee- 
passes  or  a  game  of  seven-up  with  the  manager.  Like 
the  claquers,  he  is  a  regular  nuisance.  After  the  first 
act  he  will  sit  or  stand  and  give  his  opinion  of  the  play, 
commenting  upon  the  performers  in  such  brief,  half 
ejaculatory,  half  interrogatory  way,  as,  "  Ain't  she  a 
daisy,  though?"  or,  "Ain't  he  a  dandy,  you  bet?" 
He  is  expected  to  applaud  even  the  vilest  and  least 
deserving  things,  and  when  tlie  cue  is  given,  works  his 
hands  and  feet  as  vigorously  as  I  have  often  seen 
Henry  Maplcson  in  ai)i)lauding  Marie  Roze,  his  wife, 
or  a  travelling  manager  in  commending  the  efforts  of 
his  favorite  among  the  females  of  his  company. 

Down  in  front,  right  under  the  glow  of  the  foot- 
lights, the  bald  head  of  the  leader  of  the  orchestra 
shinofi.  Often  he  is  interesting,  ])ut  sometimes,  es- 
pecially among  the  leaders  for  combinations  on  the 
road,  he  has  a  life  history  that  compels  now  tears  and 
now  again  laughter.  Wiicn  ho  is  on  the  road  he  may 
have  a  wife  or  daughter  in  the  comi)any,  and  if  he  lias 
neither  he  is  bound  to  look  lovingly  upon  some  of  the 
fair  talent  whose  toes  twinkle,  or  voices  ripple  in  song  to 
the  tunc  of  his  waving  baton,  and  he  will  smile  out 
through  his  gold-rimmed  spectacles  upon  his  favorite 


THE   ARMY   OF   ATTACHES.  199 

even  while  she  is  courting  the  favor  of  the  audience,  or, 
perhaps,  while  she  is  trying  to  mash  some  beefy  blonde 
in  the  front  rows  of  the  parquette.  Jealousy  often  takes 
possession  of  the  breast  of  the  orchestra  leader.  It 
may  be  that  he  will  find  out  that  the  wife  he  has  done 
everything  for  to  make  famous  has  j^ounger  and  hand- 
somer lovers,  from  whose  glowing  presence  she  comes 
to  her  musical  lord  cold  as  a  Christmas  morning  with 
eighteen  inches  of  ice  on  pond  and  river  ;  or  it  may  be 
that  the  favorite  of  the  foot-li2:hts  whom  he  adores  has 
found  another  favorite  in  the  audience  ;  then  there  is 
war,  and  sometimes  the  orchestra  is  left  without  its 
leader  and  a  story  of  unrequited  love  is  told  in  a  cor- 
oner's inquest  held  upon  a  body  found  floating  in  a 
pool,  or  hanging  from  a. transom  in  the  room  of  some 
hotel.  To  leave-  the  pathetic  and  get  down  to  solid 
facts  it  may  be  stated  that  the  leader  of  an  orchestra 
is  paid  from  $75  to  $100  a  week,  and  has  from  a  dozen 
to  sixteen  musicians  whose  salaries  range  from  $18  to 
$30  a  week. 

Again  returning  to  the  bosom  of  the  stage  —  to  the 
sacred  precincts  beyond  the  foot-lights  —  we  encounter 
the  stage  manager.  Every  travelling  company  has  its 
own  employee  who  directs  and  runs  the  stage  business, 
and  notwithstanding  the  abolition  of  stock  companies, 
several  theatres  retain  stage  managers  of  their  own 
who  work  in  conjunction  with  the  company's,  looking 
after  the  setting  of  scenery,  bossing  the  stage  hands, 
etc.  The  stage  manager  may  be  an  actor,  or  he  may 
not,  but  he  must  be  a  man  of  theatrical  training,  and 
thoroughly  conversant  with  all  the  requirements  of  the 
stage.  In  travelling  combinations  he  usually  plays  a 
minor  part,  and,  although  he  may  not  be  able  to  act  as 
well  as  his  brethren  of  the  play,  he  must  possess  the 
requisite  artistic  knowledge  to  point  out   and  dictate 


200  THE   ARMY   OF   ATTACHES. 

what  all  shall  do.  Ho  supervises  rehearsals ;  casts 
plays,  — that  is,  assigns  to  each  performer  his  character  ; 
and  he  looks  after  the  mounting  of  plays  and  the  cos- 
tuming, giving  the  scenic  artist  the  period  to  which  the 
play  belongs,  and  imparting  the  same  information  to 
the  costumers  so  that  there  may  be  no  anachronism  in 
the  representation  on  the  stage. 

The  scenic  artist,  who  is  often  known  to  the  people 
only  by  his  work,  has  some  extraordinary  duties  to 
perform.  When  a  combination  or  company  has  a  date 
at  a  theatre  a  week  or  so  beforehand,  they  send  on 
small  models  of  the  scenery  they  require  for  their  play. 
These  models  greatly  resemble  in  their  general  appear- 
ance and  size  the  toy  theatres  that  are  sold  to  childi^en. 
The  stage  carpenter,  who  goes  around  day  and  night 
treading  the  staire  in  his  own  shulllinsr  and  careless 
way,  and  who  is  entirely  unknown  to  the  public,  takes 
the  models  and  builds  frames  over  which  canvas  or 
muslin  is  spread.  Then  the  canvas-covered  frame  is 
taken  to  the  scene  painter's  bridge  Avhen  it  is  ready  for 
the  colors.  In  many  theatres  the  bridge  is  a  platform 
extending  across  the  stage,  and  distant  from  the  rear 
wall  about  a  foot.  It  is  on  a  level  with  the  Hies,  and 
the  opening  l)etween  it  and  the  rear  wall  is  used  for 
lowering  and  hoisting  a  scene,  which  is  hung  on  a  largo 
wooden  frame  while  tlio  artist  is  at  work  upon  it. 
This  frame  moves  u[)  and  down,  being  swung  on  pul- 
leys. The  most  improved  theatres  East  and  West,  in 
addition  to  having  the  dressing-rooms,  engines,  etc., 
in  a  building  separate  from  the  theatre,  have  the  jiaint 
bridge  also  separate.  Great  iron  doors,  three  or  four 
stories  high,  close  the  opening  to  the  painting  estab- 
lishment, and  all  scenery  not  in  use  on  the  stago 
durmg  the  run  of  a  play  is  stored  in  the  space  under 
the  bridge,  Avhile  the  bridge  itself  is  really  a  long  nar- 


THE    ARMY    OF   ATTACHES. 


201 


fow  room  with  an  opening  at  one  side  of  a  foot  or  less, 


feaMu,. 


'!  II  , 


HELPING    THE    SCENE    PAINTER. 

through  which  communication  is    had   with  the    store- 


202  TlIK    AKMV    or    ATTACHES. 

room,  and  which  gives  space  for  the  operation  of  the 
frames  upon  which  scenes  are  painted.  The  artist's 
palette  is  a  h)ni;;  tabU'  with  comi)artments  at  the  back 
for  ditferent  coh)rs,  and  there  is  besides  a  profusion  of 
paint  cans,  jars,  etc.,  with  huge  brushes  that  might 
serve  the  whitewaslicr's  wide-spread  pui'posc,  and 
otliers  thin  enough  to  paintahidy's  eyc-hish.  Water- 
colors  are  used,  and  great  splotches  of  it  arc  found 
along  the  lengthy  palette.  The  removal  of  the  paint- 
bridixe  from  the  sta<2:e  is  a  blessin<r  to  actors  and 
actresses  alike,  for  often  during  a  performance  at  night 
or  a  i-ehearsal  in  the  morning  broadcloths  and  silktj  re- 
ceived  dashes  of  paint  from  the  brush  of  the  man  at 
work  in  mid-air.  Still  actresses  do  not  often  keep  shy 
of  the  })aint-bridge.  The  ballet-girls  are  sometimes 
to  be  found  there  amusing  themselves  with  the  artist 
and  his  assistants,  and  they  tell'the  story  of  two  New 
York  actresses  who  actually  i)ut  on  aprons,  took  hold 
of  the  big  brushes,  and  assisted  a  scenic  artist  in 
"priming"  his  canvas.  They  were  bantering  him 
about  the  slow  progress  he  was  lUMking  with  a  scene 
that  was  wanted  that  night,  when  he  remarkcMl  :  "If 
you  arc  in  such  a  hurry  for  the  scene,  why  don't  you 
come  up  here  and  help  me?"  They  accepted  the  in- 
vitation at  once,  and  went  to  work  in  the  manner  I 
have  suggested.  The  scene  was  ready  that  night,  but 
the  actresses  were  very  tired.  They  painted  no  more. 
The  "priming"  of  a  scene  which  I  have  mentioned 
in  the  i)rcceding  anecdote,  consists  in  laying  a  coat  of 
white  mixed  with  sizing  u[)on  the  canvas.  When  this 
is  dry  the  artist  outlines  his  scene  in  charcoal.  He 
first  gets  his  perspective,  which  he  does  by  attaching  a 
long  piece  of  twine  to  a  pin  lixi'd  at  his  "  vanishing 
point."  Then  blackening  the  string  and  beginning  at 
the  top  he  snai)S  it  so  as  to  make  a  black  line  which  is 


THE   ARMY   OP   ATTACHES.  203 

afterwards  gone  over  with  ink.  This  line  is  repro- 
duced whenever  the  drawing  requires,  and  the  advan- 
tage it  aftbrds  will  be  readily  understood  by  all  who 
know  anything  about  art  or  appreciate  the  value  of 
good  perspective  in  drawing.  The  sky  of  the  scene  is 
first  filled  in  rapidly  with  a  whitewash  brush,  after  which 
follows  a  swift  but  clever  completion  of  the  view. 
The  side  scenes  which  are  to  be  used  as  continuations 
of  the  "  flat,"  as  the  principal  or  back  part  of.  a  scene 
is  called,  must  be  in  perspective  with  the  rest  of  the 
picture.  Scenic  artists  work  very  quickly,  and  can 
prepare  a  view  in  a  very  short  time.  Morgan,  Mars- 
ton,  Fox,  and  Voegtlin,  in  New  York  ;  Goatcher,  in 
Cincinnati ;  and  Dick  Halley,  Tom  Noxon,  and  Ernest 
Albert,  in  St.  Louis,  are  among  the  best  scene  painters 
in  the  country.  The  salaries  paid  in  this  branch  of 
the  profession  vary  from  $40  to  $150  a  Aveek.  A  New 
York  artist,  it  is  said,  who  works  very  fast,  receives  as 
much  as  $100  to  $150  for  one  or  two  scenes.  When  it 
is  taken  into  consideration  that  at  the  end  of  the  run 
of  a  play  these  scenes  are  blotted  out  to  make  way  for 
others,  the  price  paid  for  them  is  simply  enormous. 

The  old  woman  of  the  company  is  an  elderly 
matronly  female,  who  may  be  found  hovering  in  the 
wings  of  every  theatre.  She  is  nobody's  mother  in 
particular,  but  talks  in  a  motherly  way  to  all,  and  ex- 
ercises a  special  supervision  over  the  female  members 
of  the  company.  In  strange  contrast  to  her  is  the 
call-boy,  a  mischievious  devil-may-care  young  fellow, 
who  calls  Booth  "  Ed,"  Bernhardt  "  Sallie,"  and  has 
familiar  appellations  for  the  most  prominent  and  digni- 
fied people  in  the  profession.  It  is  his  business  to  call 
-  performers  from  the  green-room  in  time  for  them  to 
take  their  "  cue"  for  going  on  the  stage,  and  this  is 
about  all  he  has  to  do  except  to  make  trouble,  to  learn 


(204)         THE    "OLD    MOM  AN  "    OF  THE  COMPANY'. 


THE   ARMY   OF   ATTACHES. 


205 


secrets  that  he  whispers  about,  and  to  become  an  imp- 
ish nuisance  revelling  in  more  fun  and  freedom  than 
anybody  else  behind  the  scenes.  Aimee  took  a  liking 
to  one  of  these  little  g-entlemen  once  and  fed  him 
cigarettes,  and  let  him  tell  her  lies  ad  libitum.  She 
said  she  liked  him  because  he  was  such  "  a  charming 
little  beast."  Alice  Oates,  of  flagrant  fame,  allowed 
one  of  them  out  West  to  get  into  her  good  graces,  and 
repented  it,  when  she  found  that  he  disappeared  sud- 


THE    AESTHETIC    DRAMA. 

denly  one  day  with  a  lot  of  her  jewels.  The  call-boy 
comes  last  in  the  list  of  attaches,  but  he  is  not  at  all 
least.  If  you  believe  all  he  tells  you,  like  the  usher, 
you  will  think  him  a  great  man,  for  he  often  boasts  of 
playing  poker  with  John  McCuUough,  of  taking  Lotta 
out  for  a  drive,  or  of  rolling  ten-pins  with  Salvini  or 
some  equally  illustrious  representative  of  the  highest 
dramatic  art.  A  call-boy  gets  about  $10  a  week,  and 
in  five  cases  out  of  ten  he  isn't  worth  ten  cents. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 


STAGE-STRUCK. 


George  Mc^Iamis,  treasurer  of  tlio  Grand  Opera 
House,  St.  Louis,  in  addition  to  being  a  good  story- 
teller, is  as  fond  of  a  practical  joke  as  he  is  of  three 
meals  a  day.  Diirini!:  the  season  of  1880—81  George 
was  at  the  box-otfi(;c  window,  one  day,  lookincj  out  at 
the  Dutch  laijcr  beer  saloon  across  the  street,  and 
wondering  why  it  was  that  i)eople  were  so  fond  of 
"schooners,"  when  a  tall,  thin,  melancholy,  Hamlet- 
like young  fellow,  with  the  air  and  clothes  of  rusticity, 
stalked  sloAvly  into  tlic  vestibule  and  n[)  to  the  box- 
office. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  George,  as  the  young  man  got  iu 
front  of  the  window  and  fixed  his  elbows  on  the  sill. 

"  I  want  to  be  an  actor,"  the  young  man  began; 
"I  kein  hero  from  Cahokia,  a  small  i)laco  you  may 
havp  hcern  about,  and  I'd  like  to  go  on  the  stage  and 
play  somethiu'  or  other." 

*»  Oh,"  answered  George,  smiling,  "  if  that's  all  you 
want"!  can  fix  you.     When  do  you  want  to  begin?" 

"  I  am  ready  to  start  in  right  neow,"  was  the  reply. 
"  I  told  the  old  folks  when  I  left  the  house  last  night 
that  they  needn't  expect  to  see  me  ag'in  'til  my  name 
wuz  on  the  walls  an'  the  sides  o'  houses  in  letters 
more'n  a  yard  long,  an'  Tin  goin'  to  do  it  or  die." 

'*  I  sec  you're  made  out  of  the  right  kind  of  stulT," 
said  George,  "ami  111  give  you  a  first-class  ciiancc. 
You'ie  ambitious    and    you're  lean  —  lean   enough  to 

(200) 


STAGE-STRUCK.  207 

pliiy  Falstaff — and  lean  and  ambitious  people  always 
make  their  mark.  Have  you  ever  heard  of  the  lean 
and  hungry  Cassius?  —  I  don't  mean  a  depositor  at 
the  door  of  a  busted  bank,  bnt  the  Cassius  of  '  Julius 
Coesar.'  I'll  bet  you  feel  just  like  him  now  ;  you  look 
like  him." 

The  Cahokian  candidate  for  Thespian  honors  blushed. 

*'  Well,"  the  practical  joker  went  on,  "you  can  begin 
work  this  morning.  The  minstrels  will  be  here  in  a 
few  minutes  for  rehearsal,  and  they  want  a  new  box 
of  gags.  Go  over  to  Harry  Noxon,  at  the  Comique, 
and  ask  him  to  give  you  a  box  of  the  best  gags  he's 
got.     Tell  him  they're  for  me." 

With  a  face  wreathed  in  smiles  the  Cahokian  Cassius 
stalked  off  towards  the  Comique  while  George  went 
out  and  gathered  in  a  few  friends  to  enjoy  the  joke. 
The  Cahokian  went  to  the  ('omique,  and  Harry  Noxon, 
understanding  what  was  meant,  gave  the  poor  fellow  a 
box  half  filled  with  bricks,  and  telling  him  that  was  all 
he  had,  directed  him  to  go  up  to  Pope's  and  ask  for 
Ed.  Zimmerman,  who  would  fill  the  box  for  him. 
Shouldering  the  heavy  load,  the  Cahokian  moved 
bravely  out  towards  Pope's,  six  and  one-half  blocks 
away.  He  was  pretty  tired  when  he  got  there.  Ed. 
Zimmerman,  in  obedience  to  his  request,  sent  the  box 
around  to  the  stage-door,  where  the  carpenter  removed 
the  lid  and  added  bricks  enough  to  fill  the  receptacle. 
Nailing  the  lid  on  again  the  stage-struck  youth  was 
once  more  presented  Avith  it.  It  took  a  great  deal  of 
exertion  for  him  to  get  the  box  to  his  shoulder,  and 
when  he  had  it  there  he  staggered  along  under  the  load 
like  a  drunken  man,  to  the  Opera  House  seven  blocks 
away.  When  he  reached  the  Opera  House,  McManus 
said  the  Minstrels  had  changed  their  mind  about  usins: 
any  new  gags,  and  requested  the  Cahokian  to  carry 


208  STAGE-STRUCK. 

tlicin  over  to  the  01ym]iic.  The  Cahokiiin  looked  at 
McMiimis,  tlien  took  ;i  woofiil  and  -weary  look  at  the 
box,  and,  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  high  fore- 
head and  thin  face,  he  swnng  his  slonch  hat  over  his 
brow  and  remarked  that  he  was  tired. 

♦'  1  say,  Mister,"  he  said,  "  if  that's  what  a  fellow's 
got  to  do  to  be  a  actor  I'd  sooner  plow  corn  er 
run  a  thrashiir-masheen  twenty-three  honrs  out'n  the 
twentv-four.  1  thonu^ht  there  was  more  fun  in  the 
business  than  canyin'  around  two  or  three  hundred 
pounds  of  iron  or  somethin'  like  it,  all  day  in  the  sun. 
I  guess  I'll  throw  up  my  engagement.  Good-lye." 
And  he  strode  out  into  the  street,  while  George  and 
his  friends  had  a  laugh  that  was  as  hearty  as  the  lungs 
that  led  in  the  merriment  were  loud  and  strong. 

There  arc  a  few  young  men  and  young  ladies  in  this 
world  who  do  not  take  the  same  view  of  the  stage  that 
the  Cahokian  took  :  they  imagine  there  is  a  great  deal 
of  fun  ill  being  an  actor  or  an  actress,  and  that  it  does 
not  require  any  special  effort  to  arrive"  at  the  point 
where  a  person  becomes  a  full-Hedged  professional.  In 
this  they  arc  just  as  much  mistaken  as  was  the  Caho- 
kian, and  sometimes,  after  they  have  gone  into  training 
for  the  profession,  they  tire  of  the  hard  work  as  readily 
almost  as  the  stage-struck  young  farmer  tired  of  car- 
rvin""  the  box  of  "  irairs."  There  is  a  ji^eneral  wild 
desire  among  the  young  people  of  this  country  to 
make  ])layers  of  themselves.  They  dream  that  the 
stage  is  something  like  a  seventh  heaven  where  there  is 
nothing  but  music  and  singing  and  golden  glory  for- 
ever—  admirers,  wealth,  and  an  uninterrupted  good 
time  generally.  They  do  Jiot  know  anything  al)out 
the  long  and  toilsome  hours  of  work  and  the  compar- 
atively i)oor  i)ay  that  form  the  portion  of  all  who  are 
not  at  the  top  of  the  dramatic  ladder.     They  never 


STAGE-STRUCK. 


209 


pause  to  think  if  they  are  girls  of  the  temptations  into 
which  they  will  be  thrown,  and  of  the  slanders  that  will 
be  uttered  against  their  fair  names  upon  the  slightest 
provocation.  All  they  see  or  know  of  theatrical  life  is 
its  bright  gilded  side,  the  tinsel  that  looks  valuable,  the 


KITTY    BLANCHARD. 

jewels  that  are  paste,  the  silks  and  satins  that  are  not 
what  they  seem,  and  the  beautiful  faces  and  bright  smiles 
beneath  which  are  wrinkles  and  toil-laden  looks,  when 
the  actress  is  in  her  home  plying  her  needle  or  studying 

14 


210  STAGE-STRUCK. 

the  long  leuirths  tliiit  belong  to  her  part.  It  is  because 
people  are  so  ignorant  of  the  realities  of  dramatic  life 
that  so  many  become  stage-struck  and  go  around  strik- 
ing tragic  attitudes  and  rating  imaginary  scenery  in 
a  rabid  rant  through  Othello's  address  to  the  Sen- 
ate, or  Hamlet's  scene  with  his  mother  in  the  hit- 
ter's chamber.  There  are  forty  thousand  young  ladies 
in  this  land  "svho  want  to  be  Mary  Andersons,  and  as 
many  more  who  think  they  can  kick  as  cutely  as  Lotta, 
while  one  hundred  thousand  semi-bald  vounij  men  im- 
airine  thcv  could  out-Hamlet  Booth  if  they  had  a 
chance,  or  lift  the  mantle  of  Forrest  from  John  Mc- 
Cullcuirh  if  the  latter  dared  enter  the  ring:  with  them. 
A  Louisville  newspaper  reporter  gave  a  very  humor- 
ous description  of  an  epidemic  of  this  kind  that  pre- 
vailed in  Mary  Anderson's  home  city  some  time  ago. 
"  One  half  tlie  girls  of  the  city,"  said  the  writer, 
**  are  staore-struck  !  —  starlv,starin<x  stao^e-struck.  Hun- 
dreds  of  residences  have  been  converted  into  amateur 
play-houses,  where  would-be  female  stars  tear  their 
hair,  rave  and  split  the  air  with  their  arms,  and  stalk 
majestically  across  imaginary  stages  to  the  imaginary 
music  of  imaginary  orchestras,  and  amid  burst  of  im- 
aginary a[)[)lause  and  showers  of  imaginary  boquets. 
In  the  dry  goods  stores  young  ladies  rush  u[)  to  the 
counters  with  inspiration  dropping  from  their  eyes  in 
great  hunks  and  in  hollow  tones  command  the  allVi":ht- 
ened  clerk  to  — 

"Haste  thee,  cringing  vassal;  pr-r-r-r-ro-duce  and 
br-r-r-r-r-ing  into  our  pi--r-r-r-r-esence  thy  sixty-five- 
cent  hose  !*' 

In  the  ice  cream  saloons  the  maidens  shove  the;  cool- 
ing cream  into  their  lovely  mouths  ;ind  sweetly  min-- 
raur  to  their  escorts  :  — 

"Now,  by  me  faith,  Orlando,  but  is't  not  a  nectar 


STAGE-STRUCK.  211 

fit  for  the  gods?  Speiik,  me  beloved;  is't  not  a 
dainty  dish  that  graces  our  festal  board?  " 

And  practical  Orlando  replies  :  — 

"  I  bet  you." 

On  the  street-car  the  maiden  stalks  forward  toward 
the  driver  and  howls  :  — 

"  What,  ho,  there,  charioteer,  give  mc,  I  pray  thee, 
diminutive  coin  for  this  one  dollar  bond  an'  I  will  upon 
the  instant  requite  thee  for  thy  services  upon  this 
journey." 

When  one  of  them  catches  a  flea  she  holds  the  vic- 
tim at  arms'  length  and  roars  :  — 

"  Ha-a-a-a  !  I  have  thee  at  last,  vile  craven.  For 
many  nights  thy  visits  to  me  chamber  have  br-r-r-ought 
unrest.  Now  at  la-a-st  thou  art  in  me  clutches  and  I 
will  shower  vengeance  upon  thy  thr-rice  accursed  head. 
Die,  vile  in-gr-rate,  and  may  the  seething  fires  of  per- 
dition engulf  thy  quivering  soul  forever-r-r-r  !  " 

Then  she  opens  her  fingers  a  little  to  get  a  good 
squeeze  at  him  and  the  flea  hops  out  and  goes  home 
to  tell  its  folks  about  it.  They  have  got  it  bad  and 
none  of  the  old  established  methods  of  treatment  seem 
to  avail. 

It  is  the  very  height  of  absurdity  to  see  an  amateur 
company  on  a  stage,  and  particularly  on  the  stage  of  a 
theatre.  In  the  midst  of  the  most  solemn  tragedy  one 
is  compelled  to  laugh  at  them.  If  they  have  on  tights 
and  trunks  they  try  to  get  their  hands  into  side  pock- 
ets, and  if  they  carry  swords  the  weapon  gets  tangled 
in  their  legs,  and  ten  to  one  after  the  blade  has  left  its 
scabbard,  the  wearer  will  be  unable  to  get  it  back 
again.  Then  the  way  they  walk  upon  each  other's 
heels,  and  tread  upon  each  other's  corns  ;  jostle  each 
other  in  the  entrances  and  stick  in  their  lines  is  enousrh 
to  make  one  of  the  painted  figures  in  the  proscenium 


212  STAGE-STRUCK. 

arch  tear  itself  out  of  its  mcdalion  frame  and  die  from 
excessive  lai^ditcr.  More  ludicrous  even  than  their 
performance  is  the  frantic  rush  a  young  amateur  makes 
foi'  the  ph(Uograph  gallery  to  have  himself  preserved 
as  a  courtier,  and  the  equally  rapid  progress  the  young 
society  lady  makes  in  the  same  direction  —  anxious  to 
have  her  picture  taken  no  matter  whether  she  plays  a 
queen,  a  lady  of  honor,  or  a  page  in  tights.  She  has 
no  hesitancy  in  displaying  her  a.vkward  limhs  in  a 
picture,  although  she  would  he  ashamed  to  show  her 
ankle  in  the  parlor. 

Sometimes,  instead  of  heing  made  the  suhject  of  a 
practical  joke  on  the  street,  as  was  the  Cahokian  of 
whom  I  told  the  story  at  the  oi)ening  of  this  chapter, 
the  joke  is  carried  even  farther  —  the  aspirant  being 
taken  to  the  staije  to  jrivc  a  sami)le  of  his  work.  Oc- 
casionally  the  show  is  given  to  the  i)eo[)le  of  the  thea- 
tre only,  and  the  victim  is  quietly  let  through  a  tra[), 
or  guyed  unmercifully,  until  he  is  glad  of  an  op[)()r- 
tuuity  to  make  his  escai)e.  I  was  present  on  an 
occasion  when  an  Illinoisan  wlio  had  just  graduated 
from  coUeire  was  aUowed  to  <;o  on  the  staijc  during  a 
matinee  performance,  when  the  house  was  light,  to 
speak  his  ])iece.  He  chose,  of  course,  the  selection  ho 
had  inflicted  on  the  suH'ering  audience  that  attended 
the  Illinois  college  graduating  exercises.  It  was  "  The 
Warrior  BowcmI  his  Crested  Head,"  a  very  dramatic 
recitation  and  a  difUcult  one  even  for  a  good  reader. 
Thed(il)utant  was  about  eighteen  years  of  age,  tall,  and 
manly  looking.  He  came  forward  trembling,  and  did 
not  attempt  to  proceed  further  than  about  twelve  feet 
from  the  entrance,  —  making  a  school-boy  bow  he 
began.  The  audience  wondered  at  the  innocence 
and  awkwardness  of  the  entertainei'  who  did  not 
appear  in  the  programme,  l)ut  ;ill  soon  understood  the 


STAGE    STRUCK. 


213 


MRS.    LANQTRY,    THE    JERSEY    LILY. 


214  STAGE-STRUCK. 

afTiiir.  The  debutant  had  noi  reached  the  second  line 
of  the  second  verse,  when  hang  caino  a  pistol  shot 
from  the  side  of  the  stage.  The  speaker  ducked  his 
head,  trembled  a  little  more  than  before,  but  went  on. 
Bang  went  another  pistol  shot,  and  again  the  speaker 
acknowledged  receipt  of  a  shock  by  twitching  his  head 
and  knocking  his  knees  together.  Still  he  kept  on  re- 
citing. Sheet-iron  thunder  rattled  through  the  place, 
horns  w'cre  blown,  drums  beaten,  horse-rattles  ke[)t  in 
motion  and  lor  more  than  half  an  hour  pistol  shots  and 
flashes  of  tire  kei)t  coming  from  both  sides  of  the  stage. 
Still  he  spoke  on,  making  gestures,  twitching  his  limbs, 
and  ducking  his  head  until  the  last  liiu?  was  reached, — 
something  about  the  hero's  weapons  t;hiniiig  no  more 
among  the  spears  of  Spain,  —  when  he  bowed  and  re- 
tire<l  hardly  able  to  walk.  He  was  an  exception, 
however,  to  the  general  rule  that  stage-struck  people 
are  easily  frightened  out  of  their  wits,  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, and  (lis[)layed  such  perseverance  that  he 
was  complimented  by  the  audience  that  had  scarcely 
he:ird  a  word  of  what  he  had  said  —  aloud  burst  of 
applause  following  his  exit,  wiiich  was  continued  until 
he  came  forward  again  and  by  a  bow  acknowledged 
their  kindness.  II(Mnust  liavc  been  a  bi'ave  fellow,  for 
nextdav  he  was  around  at  the  manairi'r's  office  askiui; 
for  an  engagement 

Managers  arc;  sometimes  very  cruel  in  their  treatment 
of  young  people  who  arc  anxious  to  adopt  the  stage.  I 
saw  a  newspaper  item  staling  that  at  the  Buckingham, 
a  variety  show  in  I^ouisville,  a  drop  curtain  was 
painted  with  the  huge  letters  "  N.  (x.,"  standing  for 
♦'  no  good,"  and  the  manager  ordered  that  this  verdict 
be  lowered  in  front  of  every  ))erfornier  who  failed  to 
show  a  fair  degree  of  merit.  It  happened  that  the  first 
to  deserve  this  crushing  verdict  was  a  remarkably  pretty 


STAGE-STRUCK.  215 

girl,  and  the  audience  sympathized  with  her.  She  had 
given  an  execrable  dance,  and  was  in  the  midst  of  a 
woeful  recitation,  when  the  "  N.  G."  curtain  was  low- 
ered. The  audience  demanded  her  reappearance  and 
did  not  permit  anybody  else  to  perform  until  the  po- 
lice had  arrested  the  more  gallant  and  noisy  among 
them. 

Amateurs  who  have  any  money  to  mingle  with  their 
desire  to  go  on  the  stage  find  ready  takers.  I  could 
name  several  gentlemen  who  are  now  alleged  profes- 
sionals, with  talents  that  are  not  even  mediocre,  who 
are  tolerated  in  first-class  company  only  because  they 
pay  for  the  privilege.  One  way  a  moneyed,  stage- 
struck  person  has  of  getting  before  the  public  is  to 
rent  a  theatre,  and  hire  a  company  for  a  night  or  a 
week  or  a  month,  as  the  case  may  be.  Society  swells 
generally  do  this  kind  of  thing,  and  they  never  suc- 
ceed. Marie  Dixon  was,  under  another  name,  a  fairly 
well-to-do,  well  connected  and  popular  lady  of  Mem- 
phis, Tennessee.  She  was  old  enough  to  have  a  mar- 
ried son,  but  did  not  appear  to  be  more  than  thirty-six 
years.  Her  family  had  been  very  wealthy  before  the 
war,  but  that  event  swept  away  their  possessions,  as 
it  swept  away  the  possessions  of  many  others.  She 
was  educated  and  accomplished,  but  was  stage-struck. 
She  had  appeared  at  several  amateur  concert  enter- 
tainments in  Memphis,  and  the  local  papers  having 
complimented  her,  and  her  friends  having  remarked 
that  she  was  intended  for  an  actress,  she  boldly,  but 
foolishly,  resolved  to  become  one.  She  made  up  her 
mind  to  rival  Mary  Anderson,  and  to  overshadow  the 
memory  of  Ristori  and  all  the  great  queens  of  the  stage 
that  have  made  a  place  for  themselves  in  dramatic 
history.  She  paid  $2,000  for  the  use  of  a  St.  Louis 
theatre  for  six  nights  ;  she  hired  a  very  bad  company 


216  STAGK-STRUCK. 

at,  to  tlicni,  very  extravagant  salaries;  she  bought  a 
wardrobe  Lirgcr  and  in  some  respects  riclier  than  that 
of  any  established  star ;  then  she  came  to  St.  Louis 
with  her  aged  father,  Avhose  hopes  and  money  were 
staked  upon  her;  they  put  up  at  the  Lindell  Hotel, 
and  having  left  Memphis  amid  a  flourish  of  trumpets, 
they  fondly  expected  a  wikler  liourish  when  they 
returned.  Miss  Dixon  appeared  before  the  St.  Louis 
public  for  six  nights,  and  was  a  failure.  She  was  no 
actress.  She  was  ashamed  to  return  to  Memphis,  and 
at  this  writing  is  still  absent  from  there.  The  father 
went  home,  and,  I  hear,  died  of  a  broken  heart.  Dis- 
appointed friends  at  first  pitied,  then  laughed  at  this 
accomplished  lady,  whose  only  fault  seems  to  be  that 
she  was  one  of  the  grand  army  of  the  stage-struck. 

Miss  Helen  M.  Lewis,  a  Charleston,  South  Caro- 
lina, heiress,  who  was  anxious  to  become  a  Sarah 
Bernhardt  or  a  Siddons,  was  taken  in  recently  by  an 
advertisement  in  a  New  York  paper.  The  advertise- 
ment stated  that  a  lady  with  a  little  capital  was  wanted 
to  head  a  first-class  dramatic  combination,  and  that 
she  might  call  at  No.  G02  Sixth  Avenue,  New  York. 
Miss  Lewis,  who  was  without  any  training,  answered 
the  advertisement,  and  was  told  that  $1,000  would  be 
required  to  obtain  the  position,  which  was  leading 
lady  in  the  '♦  Daniel  Rochat  "  Combination,  which  was 
to  begin  its  tour,  by  opening  at  the  Boston  Theatre. 
The  negotiations  were  carried  on  with  Maurice  A. 
Schwab  and  Robert  J.  Rummel,  who  received  $700 
from  Miss  Lewis,  and  fm-nished  her  with  an  allejred  in- 
structor  in  the  dramatic  art.  In  order  to  be  near  the 
theatre  Miss  Lewis  took  rooms  at  the  Revere  House, 
Boston,  where  Schwa))  and  Rummel  also  established 
themselves,  and  proceeded  to  study  her  part  after  en- 
gaging an  alleged  instructor  recommended  by  Schwab. 


STAGE-STRUCK. 


217 


After  two  or  three  weeks'  standing  off  by  the  swin- 
dlers, who  made  constant  demands  on  her  for  money 
for  her  wardrobe  and  other  things,  she  chanced  to  call 
at  the  Boston  Theatre  to  hear  how  the  rehearsals  of 


MARIE    PRESCOTT    AS    '<  PARTHENIA." 

"Daniel  Rochat "  were  progressing.  She  was  told 
that  there  were  no  rehearsals  in  progress  and  learned 
that  she  had  been  swindled.  Schwab  and  Rummel 
fled,  leaving  her  to  pay  her  hotel  bill,  but  she  had  them 
arrested   in    New  York,   and    both   on    trial   were,  I 


218  STAGE-STRUCK. 

think,  convicted  and  sent  to  tlic  penitentiary,  where 
plenty  more  managers  of  their  stripe  should  be. 

^Managers  of  what  are  known  as  "  snap  "  companies 
are  just  as  bad  us  Schwab  and  Kummcl.  They  are 
glad  to  find  some  young  lady  or  gentleman  of  means 
with  lots  of  ready  cash,  and  they  do  not  hesitate  to 
make  victims  even  of  professional  people.  The  snap 
manager  has  no  money  of  his  own.  He  sits  around  a 
theatrical  printing  ollice  all  da}',  and  pretends  to  be 
running  a  circuit  of  several  towns.  lie  watches  his 
opportunit}''  until  a  comi)any  conies  along  which  he 
thinks  he  can  take  over  to  his  villages.  By  false 
representations  he  manages  to  run  up  a  big  bill  Avith  the 
printer  and  to  borrow  money  from  the  company,  who 
go  as  far  on  his  circuit  as  their  means  will  permit, 
when  the  snaj)  manager  deserts  them,  leaving  them  to 
walk,  or  bog,  or  borrow  their  way  home  as  best  they 
can.  Marie  Prescott,  who  supi)orted  Salvini  dni-ing 
his  last  American  tour,  and  who  is  an  actress  of  merit, 
was  caught  in  tiic  clutches  of  one  of  these  managers  at 
one  time  and  was  put  in  a  pitiable  plight.  Other  ac- 
tresses of  good  reputation  have  accepted  engagements 
from  strange  managers  only  to  find  themselves  mem- 
bers of  ily-l)y-night  combinations,  giving  their  ser- 
vices without  even  the  show  of  a  ])robal)ility  of  ever 
receiving  any  salary. 

Even  so  exalted  a  gentleman  and  eminent  an  impre- 
sario as  ("ol.  Manleson  is  allcLred  to  Iiave  l)i-outrht  a 
young  girl  from  France  promising  he  would  make  a 
fortune  for  liei-.  The  girl's  fath(>r  and  mother  accom- 
panied her,  and  when  the  gallant  colonel  of  Italian 
troupes  failed  to  keep  his  contract  with  the  sweet 
singer,  the  father  became  enraged  and  wanted  to  fight 
a  duel  with  th(^  militaiw  inipicsjuio.  The  family  went 
back  to  France  almost  ])enniless. 


STAGE-STRUCK.  219 

The  worst  class  of  manao-ers  in  the  world,  arc  those 
who  take  advantage  of  the  ambition  of  young  girls  to 
effect  their  ruin.  In  some  of  the  variety  theatres  man- 
agers pay  salaries  to  young  ladies  or  introduce  them 
to  the  stage  for  none  other  than  a  base  and  iniquitous 
purpose.  Frightful  stories  of  this  kind  have  been  told, 
and  the  success  real  managers  have  met  with  in  this 
direction  has  caused  numerous  pretenders  to  arise,  and 
has  made  the  theatrical  profession  a  bait  to  secure  in- 
nocent o-irls  for  Western  and  Southern  bawdv-houses, 
concert  dives,  and  low  dancing-halls.  I  read  the  fo*l- 
lowino;  advertisement  in  the  Glohe-Democrat  one 
mornino; ;  — 


P 


ERSONAL  —Wanted,  three  or  four  young  ladies  to  join  a  trav- 
elling company.     Address  Manager,  this  office. 


I  knew  that  reputable  theatrical  managers  did  not 
advertise  in  this  style  —  indeed,  they  need  not  adver- 
tise at  all,  for  there  is  always  plenty  of  talent  in  the 
market  —  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
"Personal"  was  a  veil  to  hide  some  piece  of  dirty 
work.  Therefore  I  sat  down,  and,  in  varying  feminine 
hands,  wrote  letters  to  the  manager,  asking  for  an 
opening.  Two  letters,  with  their  corresponding  an- 
swers, are  here  selected  as  specimens  of  the  remainder, 
answers  to  all  having  been  received.  One  of  the  ap- 
plications ran  as  follows  :  — 

St.  Lours,  February  6,  1878. 
Mr.  Manager  :  I  want  to  adopt  the  stage  ;  have  ap- 
peared as  an  amateur,  and  will  join  you  if  I  can  learn. 
I  am  seventeen,  a  blonde,  small,  and  my  friends  say  I 
look  well  on  the  stage.  I  sing  and  perform  on  the  guitar. 
I  have  a  friend  —  a  very  pretty  brunette  —  who  is  very 
anxious  to  go  with  me,  but  she  has  never  acted.  She  is 
same  age.     Please  let  me  know  where  I  can  see  you, 


220  STAGE-STRUCK. 

if  you  liavo  not  iilreiuly  employed  cnougli ;  but  I  must 
be  particular,  as  my  mother  docs  not  want  nie  to  go 
away.     Address  Ettie  IIolan, 

City  Post-Office. 
I  will  call  at  general  delivery  and  get  it. 

The  other  was  written    in  this   strain  and  in  these 
words  :  — 

St.  Louis,  February  (I,  1S77. 

Dear  Sir  :  I  saw  your  advertisement  iu  this  morn- 
ing's Globe- Democrat ^  asking  for  three  or  four  young 
ladies  to  join  a  travelling  theatrical  company,  and  as  I 
am  desirous  of  going  on  the  stage,  and  am  of  good 
form  and  pretty  fair  appearance,  and  have  a  pretty 
good  voice,  I  would  wish  to  join  your  company.  I 
have  never  appeared  on  any  regular  stage,  but  made 
several  amateur  appearances,  which  were  pronounced 
very  successful.  I  have  an  ambition  for  the  stage, 
and  think  I  would  succeed.  1  am  seventeen  years  of 
age,  and  medium  height,  with  black  hair  and  dark 
eyes,  and  am  a  tasty  dresser.  I  hope  3'ou  will  not 
pass  over  my  api)lication,  but  Avill  receive  it  fav()ral)ly. 
Anxiously  awaiting  an  early  reply,  I  remain,  respect- 
fully yours,  etc.,  Lizzik  IIilokr. 

P.  S.  — Address  your  reply  to  me  to  the  post-office. 

These  and  the  others  were  all  calculated  to  make  the 
*'  manager  "  feel  that  he  had  captured  a  whole  shoal  of 
gudgeons.  He  would  certainly  reply  to  such  unsophis- 
ticated notes  as  these,  and  he  did.  The  letters  were 
placed  in  the  newspaper  office  box  on  Wednesday  after- 
noon, and  brigiit  and  early  on  Thursday  morning,  I 
went  around  to  the  post-office,  presented  my  string  of 
names,  and  met  with  no  little  opposition  from  the  gen- 
tlemanly delivery  clerk,  at  first,  who  naturally  did  not 
like  to  give  an  annt'ul  of  mail   for  females  to  one  who 


STAGE-STRUCK.  221 

was  not  a  female.  The  situation  was  explained,  how- 
ever, and  a  half  dozen  rose-tinted  envelopes,  all  prop- 
erly backed  and  stamped,  and  each  containing  an 
epistle,  was  the  result.  They  were  opened  one  after 
another,  and  the  rose-tinted  and  perfumed  pages  of 
each  told,  in  a  bold  running  hand  exactly  the  same 
story  —  *'pass  thecorner  of  Eightli  and  Locust  Streets," 
at  hours  varying  from  noon  to  sundown  on  Thursday 
afternoon.  It  was  just  what  had  been  expected.  Ettie 
Holan,  the  i^etite  blonde,  who  could  play  the  guitar, 
was  answered  as  follows  :  — 

St.  Louis,  Mo.,  February  6, 1878. 
Miss  Ettie  Holan  :  Your  letter  throuo-h  the  G.-D. 
at  hand.  We  desire  to  engage  several  young  ladies  for 
the  company  now  traveling,  and  among  numerous  ap- 
plicants note  yours,  and  think  it  possible  to  fix  an 
engagement  both  for  yourself  and  lady  friend.  As  you 
are  very  particular  about  your  folks,  you  might  possibly 
object  to  coming  to  our  ofiice,  so  if  you  desire  the  en- 
gagement, please  pass  the  corner  of  Locust  and  Eighth 
Streets  with  your  lady  friend  about  four  (4)  o'clock  P. 
M.  to-morrow  (Thursday),  the  7th. 

Yours,  respectfully,  Harry  Russell. 

And  Lizzie  Hilger,  with  nothing  to  recommend  her 
but  a  voice  and  fio-ure  that  she  had  recommended  her- 
self,  was  encouraged  in  her  ambitious  aspirations  in  the 
followins^  manner :  — 

St.  Louis,  Mo.,  February  6,  1878. 
Miss  Lizzie  Hilger  :  Your  favor  at  hand.  Araono- 
numerous  applicants  I  have  remembered  yours.  We 
desire  several  young  ladies  to  strengthen  the  company 
for  our  Chicago  and  Boston  engagements,  and  desire 
to  meet  you  personally,  if  possible,  to-morrow  after- 
noon.    You   may  object  to  coming  to  our  ofiice,  so 


222 


STAGE-STRUCK. 


]ile:ise  pass  the  corner  of  Locust  and  Eiglilli  Streets 
to-morrow  afternoon  (Thursday)  about  2:30  (half- 
past  two)  o'clork. 

Yours,  respectfully,  IIauuv  Russell, 

ManajTcr. 

Ilcrc  then  was  the  "  niauairer's  "   little  came.     Of 


M.Mi;.    FANNY   JANAUSHKK. 


course  Tluiry  Kussdl  was  not  the  iMinTs  name  at  all, 
and  of  course  he  had  no  olHce  to  which  either  Miss 
Ettielloiaii  or  Miss  Liz/ie  Ililger,  or  any  of  the  four 


STAGE-STRUCK.  223 

other  girls  who  had  applied  for  positions  through  me, 
"  might  object  to  coming,"  and  of  course  he  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  strengthening  any  company's  Boston 
or  Chicasro  em>:a2:ements.  It  was  evident  now,  if  not 
before,  that  the  advertisement  was  a  snare  to  trap  the 
unwary  and  to  pull  the  wool  over  the  eyes  of  the  inno- 
cent and  unsuspecting,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  to  pay 
a  visit  to  the  locality  named  in  the  above  letters. 

A  visit  was  paid,  after  dinner,  to  the  proposed  place 
of  meeting.  On  the  way  up  I  met  a  detective  friend, 
to  whom  my  business  was  disclosed.  The  detective 
said  he  would  go  along  and  "spot"  the  fellow  for 
future  reference,  and  he  did.  Handsome  Harry  was 
found  at  his  post,  gazing  up  and  down  and  across  the 
street.  He  was  standing  in  front  of  a  saloon,  on  the 
corner,  and  a  friend  was  hard  by,  who  was  to  witness 
the  success  of  the  little  game.  Now  and  then  a  young 
lady  passed  to  or  from  her  home,  and  every  time  she 
came  within  sight  "  Manager  "  Harry  began  to  prepare 
himself  for  the  "  mash."  The  coat  front  was  read- 
justed, the  shirt  collar  straightened  up,  the  hat  lifted 
from  the  head  and  the  finoers  run  throuijh  the  hair, 
and,  as  a  last  and  finishing  touch,  the  ends  of  his  dainty 
moustache  were  fingered  and  carefully  set  away  from  his 
lips  with  a  silk  handkerchief.  But  here  came  the 
young  lady.  How  he  stared  her  in  the  face  as  she  came 
towards  him,  ogled  her  when  near  by,  and  cast  a  dis- 
consolate and  disappointed  look  after  her  as  she  passed. 
Then  he  went  back  to  communicate  to  his  friend  that 
she  was  probably  "  not  the  one,"  or  that  "  maybe  she 
weakened,"  and  again  took  his  stand  to  watch  the  next 
comer.  This  little  business  was  gone  through  with  as 
many  times  as  there  were  young  ladies  who  passed.  At 
last  it  was  evident  to  the  two  persons  who  had  their  eyes 
on  Harry  that  he  was  beginning  to  weaken,   and  was 


224  STAGK-STRUCK. 

about  to  leave  the  place  for  a  time  at  least.  Under 
these  circumstances  there  was  only  one  thins;  to  do  — 
to  go  over  and  have  a  talk  with  him  about  the  show 
business  and  make  further  engagements  for  the  young 
ladies  who  were  so  anxious  to  blossom  forth  on  the 
stage.  The  detective  walked  up  to  the  man  who  was 
presumably  llarrv  Kussell. 

*'  Do  you  know  of  a  man  named  Harry  Russell  stop- 
ping about  hero?  "  asked  the  detective, 

Harry  was  with  his  friend  now,  and  both  became  al- 
most livid  in  the  face  and  were  evidently  taken  back 
by  the  inquiry. 

'*  N-no  ;  w-wliat  is  he?  "  stammered  out  Harry. 

"  I  believe  he's  manager  of  a  theatrical  company." 

"  Hamy  "  had  somewhat  regained  his  mental  equi- 
librium l)y  this  time,  and  answered  positively  ;  "  Don't 
know  him  ;  never  heard  of  him," 

■•'  Have  you  seen  any  man  around  in  the  past  half 
hour?  Russell  made  an  cn2i;a£^cment  to  meet  me 
here." 

"  I  haven't  boon  here  but  a1)out  ten  minutes,"  and 
away  "Harry"  and  his  friend  sailed. 

The  detective  and  myself  had  been  watching 
the  pseudo  manager  for  over  two  hours  Tr(»m  a  room 
across  the  street,  and,  of  course,  knew  there  was  no 
truth  in  the  measure  he  placed  u[)on  the  time  he  was 
Avatciiinij:  and  waitinj]:  for  victims  that  never  came. 
He  was  not  a  theatrical  man,  but  some  dirty  scamp. 

Some  time  ago  an  advertisement  of  the  same  char- 
acter as  the  "Personal"  quoted  above,  appeared  in 
the  Chicago  papers,  and  many  young  ladies,  anxious 
to  adopt  the  stage  as  a  i)rofession,  applied  for  posi- 
tions. They  obtained  admission  to  the  quasi  manager, 
whr),  when  no  resistance  was  made  by  the  applicants, 
shipped  them   to    Texas   and   other   .Southern   points, 


STAGE-STRUCK.  225 

where  they  found  themselves  perhaps-  penniless  in  the 
midst  of  a  life  of  uncertainties,  into  which  they  had 
been  duped  and  to  which  they  had  been  sold.  Many 
of  these  had  been,  and  would  still  be,  respectable 
young  girls  and  ornaments  to  their  respective  home 
circles,  were  it  not  for  the  serpent  with  the  fascinating 
eyes  that  peeped  out  at  them  from  under  the  three  or 
four  lines  in  the  advertising  columns  of  that  Chicago 
paper.  Discoveries  of  the  same  kind  were  made  in 
several  cities  of  the  East,  and  it  is  dreadful  to  contem- 
plate the  havoc  which  must  have  been  wrought  by  this 
means,  for  surely  many  of  the  hundreds  of  really  good 
girls,  who  are  always  sure  to  answer  such  an  advertise- 
ment in  the  innocent  belief  that  it  may  be  the  means 
of  making  Neilsons,  Cushmans,  Morrises  or  some  other 
equally  firmamentary  individual  in  the  galaxy  of  the 
stage  of  them,  and  who  refused  to  be  debauched,  were 
sorely  disappointed  in  the  result  of  their  apparent  good 
fortune  in  obtainino;  the  recomition  of  the  "  manao;er." 
The  following  letter  from  a  band  of  stage-struck 
young  men  of  color  is  an  extraordinary  document,  and 
may  be  taken  as  a  sample  of  the  letters  received*  every 
day  by  theatrical  managers  :  — 

Kansas  City,  1789  [1879],  January  14.  Mr.  De 
Bar,  Dear  Sir,  I  take  thes  opportunity  of  witring  you 
theas  few  lines  to  ask  you  for  an  engagement  at  the 
Orepry  [Opera]  house  if  you  can  as  we  would  like  to 
get  it  if  we  can.  i  and  my  trop  can  do  a  great  meny 
performence  on  the  stage.  W.  H.  Terrell  he  can  do 
the  Iron  Joyrl  [iron  jaw]  performence  and  do  a  Jig 
Dance  and  a  Clos;  and  Double  Son«:  and  Dance  and 
other  tricks.  Mr.  Benjermer  Frankler  [Benjamin 
Franklin]  waltz  With  a  pail  of  water  on  his  head  and 
plays  the  frence  harp  the  sanetime  on  the  stage  and 
laying  down  with  it  on  his  head  and  roal  all  over  the 


■2-2i] 


STAGE-STRUCK. 


floor  :iii(l  .lump  G  feet  hiagli  in  the  :iir  on  IkukI  and  feet, 
allso  and  we  have  the  Best  IVcncli  liai'i)  players  in  tho 
■world  that  ever  plaid  on  one.  and  leaping  throuirh  a 
hoop  t)f    lire  same   as   a  circus.     If  you  can  git  it   lor 


ROSE    EYTINGE. 

me  pleas  write  soon  and  let  me  know.  Sam  Clirismau 
is  one  of  my  atctcrs.     yours  Truly,     B.  Franklin. 

Excuse  writing  and  paper.     This  is  a  Cold  trop. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  for  me  to  say  Ben  De  Bar  did 
not  give  tho  *' Cold  trop"  an  engagement.  Toor  old 
Ben  was  dead  at  that  time. 


CHAPTER    XV. 


THE    REHEARSAL. 


When  the  seeker  after  histrionic  honors  has  at  hist 
crossed  the  threshold  of  the  stao;e,  he  or  she  will  find 
it  entirely  diflercnt  from  the  glitter  and  glory  with 
which  the  iniaijination  had  clothed  thinijs  theatrical. 
The  first  revelation  made  to  new-comers  in  the  pro- 
fession is  the  rehearsal.  This  generally  begins  about 
ten  A.M.  and  ends  about  two  p.  m.  In  the  old  days  of 
stock  companies,  performers  had  more  laborious  work  to 
perform  than  men  who  carry  railroad  iron  out  of,  or  into, 
steamboats.  Often  there  were  new  plays  every  night, 
which  meant  now  parts  to  be  memorized,  and  rehearsals 
every  day.  Leaving  the  theatre  at  eleven  p.  m., 
about  the  usual  hour  of  closing  a  performance  at  that 
time,  the  actor  took  his  part  with  him,  and  instead  of 
going  to  his  bed,  was  obliged  to  sit  up  and  study  his 
lines  —  no  matter  how  many  lengths  there  were. 
Torn  and  worn  out  with  his  niofht's  work  on  the  stage, 
and  the  mental  toil  that  followed,  it  was  often  al- 
ready mornin2:  when  the  actor  souj^ht  his  couch.  He 
was  then  obliged  to  be  up  in  a  few  hours  and  at  the 
theatre  at  ten.  If  he  absented  himself  there  was  a  fine 
that  Avould  materially  reduce  his  already  low  salary. 
Where  was  the  room  for  enjoyment  for  the  actor  or 
actress  in  those  daj^s?  There  was  little  opportunity 
given  to  anjdjody  at  all  employed  upon  the  stage  to  be 
of  dissolute  habits  or  to  indulge  in  any  of  the  excesses 
that  pulpit-pounders  and  their  intolerant  and  intoler- 

(227) 


228  THE    REHEARSAL. 

al)le  followers  generally  charged  against  the  profes- 
sion. These  super-moral  individuals  could  not  make 
a  distinction  between  the  stage  of  the  days  of  Mrs. 
Bracogirdle  and  Mistress  "VVoffington,  of  Mrs.  Jordan 
and  Mrs.  Kobinson,  when  tilth  and  licentiousness  pre- 
vailed because  the  public  found  no  fault  with  it,  and 
the.  same  things  were  prevalent  in  ranks  of  the  very 
best  society.  Now  that  we  have  travelling  combina- 
tions, and  that  one  part  will  last  a  man  or  woman  who 
pays  attention  to  business  for  a  year  or  more,  the  pro- 
fession is  not  so  heavily  taxed  ;  still  there  is  plenty  of 
work,  and  there  is  little,  if  any,  time  to  devote  to  any 
of  the  pleasures  or  excesses  that  prurient  piety  points 
out  as  the  portion  of  players.  But  this  is  moralizing' 
Let  us  get  back  to  the  rehearsal.  Less  than  ten  years 
ago  a  rciiearsal  might  be  found  going  on  in  any  theatre 
in  the  country  between  the  hours  of  ten  a.  m.  and 
two  r.  M.  Now  it  is  a  rare  thing  to  tind  a  rehearsal  ex- 
cept on  Monday,  and  in  the  few  cities  where  Sunday- 
night  performances  are  given  this  day  may  be  set 
apart,  when  the  oi)ening  or  first  performance  is  on  the 
same  night.  As  travelling  goes  now,  a  company 
reaches  a  town  either  the  nii^ht  before,  or  the  mornin<x 
of  the  day  for  their  initial  entertainment.  No  matter 
what  the  time  of  arrival  —  unless  it  be,  as  often  hap- 
pens, that  the  (■om[)any  gels  oil'  the  train  and  to  the 
theatre  fifteen  minutes  before  the  curtain  is  to  go  up  — 
every  member  of  the  company  will  be  expected  at  the 
theatre  in  the  morning  for  rehearsal,  not  so  much  to 
go  through  their  parts  as  to  familiarize  themselves 
with  the  entrances  and  exits  and  the  m'ueral  arranp^c- 
ment  of  the  liouse.  The  staije  manager  is  there  and 
the  orchestra  is  in  its  place.  If  it  is  comic  opera  there 
is  a  rehearsal  of  the  music,  and  if  it  is  one  of  the 
musico-farcical  or  burlesque  pieces  that  were  epidemic 


THE   REHEARSAL.  229 

during  the  past  two  seasons,  the  play  will  be  rehearsed 
that  the  musicians  may  come  in  with  their  flare  up  at 
the  proper  time. 

A  rehearsal  is  calculated  to  take  all  the  starch  out  of 
the  ambition  of  a  neophyte,  and  to  drench  his  hopes  in 
a  sorrowful  manner.  The  stao;e  bereft  of  its  flood  of' 
light,  of  its  gorgeous  color  and  wealth  of  splendor,  is 
the  darkest,  dreariest,  and  most  commonijlace  reo;ion 
in  the  world.  The  buzz  of  saw  and  the  clatter  of 
hammer  are  heard  in  all  directions,  while  men  in  aprons, 
overalls,  and  greasy  caps  are  making  the  saw-and-ham- 
mer  noises,  and  others  even  less  romantic  are  drao-o-inor 
about  scenery  or  boxes  ;  gas  men  are  at  work  on  the 
foot-lights,  and  there  is  noise  and  confusion  enough  to 
set  a  whole  villagefuU  of  sybarites  crazy.  Down  in 
front  a  group  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  are  moving 
about  and  talking.  These  are  the  players  —  the  peo- 
ple we  saw  the  night  before  in  rich  attire,  with  glowing 
jewels  and  surrounded  with  all  the  magnificence, 
wealth  could  bestow  or  royalty  command.  Now,  the 
king's  crown  is  a  black  slouch  hat  and  the  royal  robes 
are  a  dark  sack  coat  and  vest,  light  trousers,  and  white 
shirt  with  picadilly  collar.  The  queen  has  a  last-year 
bonnet  on  her  head  and  a  water-proof  cloak  envelopes 
her  form.  The  other  actors  are  also  in  eveiy-day  dress, 
some  showing  that  their  owners  patronize  first-class 
tailors  and  others  that  they  have  been  handed  down 
from  the  shelves  of  cheap  ready-made  clothing  houses. 
The  stage  manager  is  pushing  everybody  around,  and 
the  actors  and  actresses  are  talkins:  at  one  another  in 
lines.  Some  have  books  of  the  play,  for  they  are  re- 
hearsing, and  all  rattle  over  their  lines  as  if  running  a 
race  with  a  locomotive  that  is  drawins^  Vanderbilt's 
special  car  over  the  road  at  its  topmost  speed.  It  is 
impossible  to  understand  what  they  are  saying,  and 


230 


THE    KEITEARSAL. 


the  oii-lookcr  would  he  williunj  to  wairor  a  $10  "old 
piece  :i2::iinst  a  silver  dime  with  a  hole  in  it  th:it  the 
pcrforniers  do  not  hear  or  understand  each  otlu-r. 
But  a  Calitbruia  journalist  has  Avritten  a  very  truthful 


a(;n'Es  i$ootii. 


and    fuiniv  ac^eouut  of  a  rehearsal  ho  attendcid   in   San 
Frtiucisco.     Olive  Logan  has  it  iu  her  l)()ok,  l)nl    it    is 
so  <jood  I  will  make  use  of  it  ajjaiu.      Here  it  is  :  — 
Yon  may  get  as  perfect  an  idea  of  a  i)lay  by  seeing    it 


THE    IJEIIEARSAL.  231 

rehearsed  as  you  would  of  Shakespeare  from  hearing  it 
read  in  Hindustani.  The  first  act  consists  in  an  exhi- 
bition of  great  irritability  and  impatience  by  the  stage 
manager  at  th.e  non-appearance  of  certain  members 
of  the  troupe.  At  what  theatre?  Oh,  never  mind 
what  theatre.  We  will  take  liberties  and  mix  them 
thus  :  — 

Stage  Manager  (calling  to  some  one  at  the  front  en- 
trance) :   "  Send  those  people  in." 

The  people  are  finally  hunted  up  one  by  one  and  go 
rushing  down  the  passage  and  on  to  the  stage  like  hu- 
man whirlwinds. 

Leading  Lady  (reading)  :  "  My  chains  a-a-a-a-a 
rivet  me  um-um-um  (carpenters  burst  out  in  a  tre- 
mendous fit  of  hammering)  this  man." 

Star  :  ' '  But  I  implore  —  buz-buz-buz  —  never  — 
um-um  "  (great  sawing  of  boards  somewhere). 

Echearsal  reading,  mind  you,  consists  in  the  occa- 
sional distinct  utterance  of  a  word,  sandwiched  in  be- 
tween large  quantities  of  a  strange,  monotonous  sound, 
something  between  a  drawl  and  a  buz,  the  last  two  or 
three  words  of  the  part  being  brought  out  with  an 
emphatic  jerk. 

Here  Th n  rushes  from  the  rear :  — 

"  Now  my  revenge," 

Star  (giving  directions) :  "  No,  you  Mrs.  H — s — n, 
S'tand  there,  and  then  when  I  approach  you,  Mr. 
B — r — y,  step  a  little  to  the  left ;  then  the  soldiers 
pitch  into  the  villagers  and  the  villagers  into  the  sol- 
diers, and  I  shoot  you  and  escape  into  the  mountains." 

Stage  Manager  (who  thinks  ditFerently)  :  "Allow 
me  to  suggest,  Mr.  B s,  that"  —  (here  the  ham- 
mering and  sawing  burst  out  all  over  the  stage  and 
drown  everything). 

This  matter  is  finally  settled.     The  decision  of  the 


232  TTIR   rvEIlEARSAL. 

oldest  member  of  the  troupe  having  been  appealed  to, 

is   adopted.     Then    Mr.    I\Ic h   is    missinix.      The 

manager    bawls     "Me h!"       Everybody    bawls, 

^^^Ic- h!"      "Gimlet!     Gimlet!"'    This    is   the 

playful  rehearsal  appellation  ^oy  Hamlet.  Gimlet  is  at 
length  captured  and  goes  rushing  like  a  locomotive 
down  the  passage. 

Stage  Manager  :  *'  Now,  ladies  and  gentlemen.  All 
on!" 

They  tumble  up  the  stage  steps  and  gather  in  groups. 
H — 1 — u  fences  with  everybody.  Miss  H — w — n  exe- 
cutes an  imperfect  j9f/s  seul. 

Leading  Ladv  :  "  I-a-a-a-a  love-um-um-um  —  and-a- 
a-a  another —  " 

Miss  II — 1 — y.  Miss  M — d — c,  or  any  other  woman  : 
•'  This  engagc-a-a-a  my  son's  um-um  Bank  Exchange." 

A — d — n  raises  his  hands  and  eyes  to  heaven,  say- 
ing :   "  Great  father  !  he's  drunk  !  " 

Leading  Lady  (very  energetically)  :  '<  Go  not,  dear- 
est Hawes  !  The  Gorhamites  are  a-a-a-um-um  devour 
thee." 

Mrs.  S— n— s  :  "  IIow  !     What !  !  " 

Mrs.  J li :   "Arc  those  peasantry  up  there?" 

Boy  conies  up  to  the  stage  and  addresses  the  mana- 
ger through  his  nose :  "  Mr.  G.,  1  can't  find  him  any- 
where." 

II y  J n  :   "  For  as  much  as  I  "  —  (terrible 

hammering). 

Nasal  boy:  "Mr.  G.,  I  can't  find  hini  anywhere." 

I> — c — h  :   "  Stoj)  my  paper  !  " 

Manager:  "  Mr.  L.,  that  must  be  brought  out  very 
strong  ;  thus,  Stop  mi/ paper!  " 

L— c — li  (bringing  it  out  with  an  emphasis  which 
raises  the  roof  off  the  theatre)  :  "  Stop  my  taper  I  " 

The  leading  lady  hero  goes  through  the  motion  of 


TttES   REHEARSAL.  233 

fainting  and  falls  against  the  star,  who  is  partly  unbal- 
anced by  her  weight  and  momentum.  The  star  then 
rushes  distractedly  about,  arranging  the  supernumer- 
aries to  his  liking.  Ed — s  and  B — y  walk  abstract- 
edly to  and  fro.  S — n— r  dances  to  a  lady  near  the 
wings.  These  impromptu  dances  seem  to  be  a  favor- 
ite pastime  on  the  undressed  stage. 

Second  Lady:  "  Positively  a-a-a-  Tom  Fitch  um- 
um  amusino;  a-aitch  a-aitch  a-aitch  !" 

Tt  puzzled  me  for  a  long  time  to  find  out  what  was 
meant  by  this  repetition  of  a-aitch.  It  is  simply 
the  readino;  of  lauo-hter.  A-aitch  is  where  *'  the 
laugh  comes  in."  The  genuine  pearls  of  laughter  are 
reserved  for  the  regular  performance.  Actresses  can- 
not afford  to  cachinate  during  the  tediousness  and 
drudgery  of  rehearsal.     Usually  they  feel  like  crying. 

Stage  Manager:  "We  must  rehearse  this  last  act 
over  a2;ain." 

CD 

Everybody  at  this  announcement  looks  broadswords 
and  daggers.  There  are  some  pretty  pouts  from  the 
ladies,  and  some  deep  but  energetic  profanity  from  the 
gentlemen. 

The  California  journalist  has  just  about  done  justice 
to  the  subject.  I  have  attended  rehearsals  when  it 
was  utterly  impossible  to  comprehend  whether  they 
were  readino^  Revelations  or  oroino-  throuo^h  Mother 
Goose's  melodies.  Drilling  the  chorus  for  opera  is 
attained  by  the  same  trials  and  tribulations  as  rehear- 
sals for  dramatic  representations.  The  leader  grows 
furious  at  the  surrounding  noise,  and  the  distractions 
that  members  of  the  chorus  give  themselves  up  to.  It 
is  a  bad  thing  to  get  them  together  at  first  and  harder 
still  to  keep  them  together  afterwards.  When  the 
leader  with  an  atmosphere  of  the  kindest  humor  sur- 
rounding his  smooth  head  holds  his  baton  aloft  imagin- 


234 


THE    KEHEAKSAL. 


ing  that  everything  is  all  right,  says  :  "  Now,  ladies  and 
gentlcnicn,  all  together,"  lie  gracefully  lowers  his  arm, 
but  suddenly  arises  in  an  angry  mood,  for  thoy  are  not 


THE   REHEARSAL. 


235 


all  together.  About  one-half  the  throng  begin,  and 
the  other  half  loiter  behind  to  drop  in  at  intervals. 
And  so  it  goes  from  act  to  act  until  the  opera  is  fin- 
ished. The  singers  are  in  street  dress  and  the  shab- 
biest of  garments  brush  against  the  most  stylish.  In 
rehearsing  grand  opera  only  one  act  is  taken  at  a  time, 


TRAINING    BALLET    DANCERS. 

and  the  scenes  presented,  with  the  mellifluous  Italian 
and  the  sweet-scented  garlic  floating  around  the  stage, 
are  picturesque  to  the  eye,  charming  to  the  ear,  and 
simply  entrancing  to  the  nose.  The  principals  re- 
hearse sitting. 

Ballet  dancers  have  as  hard  work,  if  not  harder  than 


23f*)  TIIR   RF.nEARSAL. 

any  other  class  in  llic  pi-ofcssioii,  Tlioy  must  rehearse 
or  practice  daily,  aiul  for  hours  and  hours  at  a  time. 
The  maitre  is  there  with  cane  and  eye-glass,  with  velvet 
coat  and  lavender  trousers,  to  show  them  the  motions, 
and  line  after  lino  the  strength  and  limberness  of  the 
limbs  of  the  corps  de  hnUet  are  tested.  From  the 
premiere  who  sits  with  sealskin  sack  over  her  stage 
costume  with  her  pet  dog  l)y  her  side  down  to  the 
latest  acquisition  to  the  maitre' s  (the  ballet  master's) 
corps,  all  must  be  on  hand  to  rehearse  with  or  without 
music.  In  the  latter  instance  the  steps  are  slowly  but 
carefully  gone  through.  Not  only  is  there  a  day 
rehearsal,  but  there  is  private  individnaj  rehearsal  of 
the  steps  at  night  previous  to  going  on  the  stage  ;  for 
there  is  much  grace  in  a  corps  de  ballet^  and  no  girl  in 
love  Avith  her  art  wishes  to  be  considered  awkward  or 
in  the  rear ;  hence  the  emulation  that  exists,  and  the 
private  rehearsals  in  the  dressing-room.  Many  of  these 
ballet-dancers  live  poor  lives,  getting  salaries  which 
after  buvinn;  their  stage  dresses  leaves  them  little  for  the 
cupboard  and  very  little  to  waste  upon  street  costumes. 
Some  are  frail,  and  have  admirers  whose  purse-strings 
they  pull  wide  open,  and  are  therefore  able  to  rustle 
around  in  silks  and  sport  rich  golden  and  jewelled  or- 
naments, while  the  honest  girls  must  sup  at  home  on 
crusts  and  share  the  opprpbrium  their  shamless  com- 
panions bring  on  the  entire  class.  Ballet  girls  every- 
where have  a  throng  of  giddy,  dissipating  male  follow- 
ers, and  those  who  resist  the  temptations  thrown  in 
their  way  are  deserving  praise  rather  than  condemna- 
tion. 

Just  as  the  Spanish  have  their  Manzai,  the  Hindoos 
tlicir  Xaiitrli  girls,  the  Jaj^anese  that  remarkable 
dance  travellers  have  written  so  frequently  and  so  much 
about,  and  each  country  its  own  particular  sway  or 


NATIONAL  DANCES. 


(237) 


238  THE    REHKARSAL. 

whirl,  so  this  country  seems  to  have  taken  kindly  to 
the  ballet.  When  ii  ballet  dancer  —  one  of  the  fa- 
mous dancers  of  the  beginning  of  the  century  —  })re- 
sented  herself  for  the  first  time  to  an  Albany,  New  York, 
audience,  the  ladies  rushed  from  the  stage  and  there 
was  almost  a  panic.  But  it  did  not  take  long  to 
accustom  the  Albanians  to  the  undraped  drama,  and 
they  are  as  fond  of  it  now  as  any  of  the  rest  of  the  not 
over-scrupulous  people  of  the  country.  Not  so  many 
years  ago,  thei'e  was  a  ballet  ever}''  night  in  the  fir>t- 
class  variety  theatres  ;  now  there  are  few,  except  in 
the  East,  that  have  this  feature,  and  for  this  reason  — 
the  abandonment  of  it  in  the  West  and  South  —  the 
])eople  who  draw  conclusions  from  everything  they  see 
and  hear  cry  out  that  the  ballet  is  dvinix  out.  This  is 
not  so.  The  ballet  has  been  dropi)cd  from  the  list  of 
attractions  in  the  West,  because  the  manaijers  thoujjht 
it  too  costly  an  institution  for  them  to  carry  and  not 
.because  the  peoj)le  did  not  want  it.  Some  of  the  best 
paying  theatrical  investments  of  the  day  are  based 
upon  the  fascinating  and  drawing  qualities  of  a  dis- 
played female  liinl).  Hurlescjiic  with  its  l)l()nde  attri- 
butes kept  the  country  in  a  rage  for  man}'  }'ears,  and 
the  reason  why  it  is  so  rare  now  is  that  comic  opera 
and  the  minor  musical  attractions  of  the  quasi  legiti- 
mate stage  have  usur[)ed  its  princii)al  feature  —  the  leg 
show  —  and  under  tin;  cover  of  art  ijet  the  ijatronairo 
of  p(.'o[)le  who  would  shun  bnrlcsfpies,  and  at  the  same 
tinu!  supply  the  dennuul  of  al)ont  three-fourths  of  the 
male  persuasion  who  are  as  fond  of  as  much  anatojny 
in  pink  tights  as  the  law  will  allow  them.  If  any  one 
thinks  th(^  ballet  is  on  the  decay  Just  let  him  wait 
until  such  an  attraction  !■<  announced  in  his  neighbor- 
hood and  then  stand  back  and  count  as  the  bald-headed 
brigade  goes  to  the  front. 


THE   REHEARSAL.  239 

And  for  those  who  take  any  interest  in  the  ballet,  or 
care  to  hear  anything  about  the  women  who  have 
become  famous  as  dancers,  the  following  bit  of  his- 
tory which  I  found  in  Gleason's  Pictoral  for  1854  will 
be  very  agreeable  reading :  "A  recent  performance  at 
her  majesty's  theatre  in  London  has  been  signalized  by 
an  event  unparalleled  in  theatrical  annals,  and  one 
which,  some  two  score  years  hence,  may  be  handed 
down  to  a  new  generation  by  garrulous  septuagena- 
rians as  one  of  the  most  brilliant  reminiscences  of  days 
gone  by.  The  appearance  of  four  such  dancers  as 
Taglioni,  Cerito,  Carlotta  Grisi  and  Lucile  Grahn,  on 
the  same  boards  and  in  the  same  pas,  is  truly  what 
the  French  would  call  "  une  solemnite  tJieatrale,^^  and 
such  a  one  as  none  of  those  who  beheld  it  are  likely  to 
witness  again.  It  was  therefore  as  much  a  matter  of 
curiosity  as  of  interest,  to  hurry  to  the  theatre  to 
witness  this  spectacle  ;  but  every  other  feeling  was 
merited  in  admiration  when  the  four  o-reat  dancers 
commenced  the  series  of  picturesque  groupings  Avith 
which  this  performance  opens.  Perhaps  a  scene  was 
never  witnessed  more  perfect  in  all  its  details.  The 
greatest  of  painters,  in  his  loftiest  flights,  could  hardly 
have  conceived,  and  certainly  never  executed,  a  group 
more  faultless  and  more  replete  with  grace  and  poetry 
than  that  formed  by  these  four  danseuses.  Taglioni 
in  the  midst,  her  head  thrown  backwards,  apparently 
reclining  in  the  arms  of  her  sister  nymphs.  Could 
such  a  combination  have  taken  place  in  the  ancient 
palmy  days  of  art,  the  pencil  of  the  painter  and  the 
pen  of  the  poet  would  have  alike  been  employed  to 
perpetuate  its  remembrance.  No  description  can 
render  the  exquisite,  and  almost  ethereal  grace  of 
movement  and  attitude  of  these  great  dancers,  and 
those   Avho  have  witnessed  the  scene,  may    boast  of 


240  THE    REHEARSAL. 

having  once,  at  least,  seen  the  perfection  of  the  art  of 
dancing  so  little  understood.  There  was  no  affectation, 
uo  api)arent  exertion  or  strnggle  for  effect  on  the  part 
of  these  gifted  artistes  ;  and  though  they  displayed  their 
utmost  resources,  there  was  a  simplicity  and  case,  the 
ahsencc  of  which  would  have  completcdy  broken  the 
spell  they  threw  around  the  scene.  Of  the  details  of 
this  i)crformance  it  is  ditHciilt  to  speak.  In  the  solo 
steps  executed  by  each  danseuse,  each  in  turn  seamed 
to  claim  pre-eminence.  Where  every  one  in  her  own 
style  is  perfect,  peculiar  individual  taste  alone  may 
l)alance  in  favor  of  one  or  the  other,  but  the  award  of 
public  applause  must  be  equally  bestowed  ;  and  the 
penc/icnit  for  the  peculiar  style,  and  the  admiration  for 
the  dignity,  the  repose  and  the  exquisite  grace  which 
characterize  Taglioni,  and  the  dancer  who  has  so  bril- 
liantly followed  the  same  track  (Lucilc  Grahu),  did 
not  prevent  the  warm  appreciation  of  the  charming 
archness  and  twinkling  steps  of  Carlotta  Grisi,  or  the 
wonderful  Hying  leaps  and  revolving  bounds  of  Cerito. 
Though  each  displayed  her  utmost  powers,  the  emula- 
tion of  the  fair  dancers  was  unaccompanied  by  envy. 
Every  time  a  shower  of  boqncts  descended  on  the 
conclusion  of  a  solo  jjas  of  one  or  the  other  of  the  fair 
ballei'inf,  her  sister  dancers  came  forward  to  assist  her 
in  collecting  them.  The  api)lause  was  universal  and 
equally  distributed.  This,  however,  did  not  take  from 
the  excitement  of  the  scene.  The  house,  crowded  to 
the  roof,  presented  a  concourse  of  the  most  eager  faces, 
never  diverted,  for  a  moment,  from  the  performance  ; 
and  the  extraordinary  tumult  of  enthusiastic  applause, 
joined  to  the  delightful  effect  of  the  spectacle  pre- 
sented, iiiqiarted  to  tlic  whole  scene  an  interest  and 
excitement  that  can  hardly  be  imagined  by  those  not 
present." 


*Siiv:b.*cS/''''*^'^: 


*   ^^ 


MARION    ELMORE, 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


CANDIDATES  FOR  SHORT  CLOTHES. 


About  a  week  before  the  date  of  the  opening  of  a 
spectacular  play  at  any  metropolitan  theatre  an  adver- 
tisement reading  something  like  this  appears  iu  the 
want  columns  of  the  daily  papers  :  — 

WANTED  — Three  hundred  girls  for  the  ballet  in  "The  Blue 
Huntsman,"   at  Bishop's  Theatre.    Call  at  stage-door   at 
ten  A.  M.  Monday. 

In  this  simple  advertisement  the  theatrical  instinct 
which  prompts  the  press  agent  to  exaggerate  facts  con- 
cerning his  attraction  is  very  beautifully  displayed. 
The  number  of  girls  wanted  is  probably  not  in  excess 
of  fifty ;  still  the  local  manager  does  not  care  to  waste 
money  upon  this  little  advertisement  without  getting 
an  advertisement  for  his  show  out  of  it.  Monday 
morning  brings  a  number  of  applicants  —  not  as  large 
a  number  as  such  an  advertisement  would  have 
attracted  in  former  years,  but  still  enough  to  meet  the 
demands  of  the  ballet-master,  who  has  come  on  ahead 
of  his  troupe  to  select  the  girls  and  give  them  a  little 
training,  just  sufficient  training  to  tone  down  the  rough 
edges  of  their  awkwardness  and  to  drill  them  in  the 
marches  in  which  they  will  be  expected  to  participate. 
The  girls,  as  they  come  in  singly  or  in  pairs  —  shyly 
and  coyly  approaching  the  stage-door,  but  taking 
courao;e  at  the  sight  of  the  others  who  are  there  before 
them  —  are  told  to  come  around  again  iu  the  afternoon, 
or  perhaps  the  following  morning  to  meet  the  ballet. 
16  (241) 


242  CANDIDATES    FOR    SHOUT    CLOTHKS. 

There  doesn't  seem  to  be  any  particular  clioicc  in  cjet- 
ting  up  a  l)allet  of  this  kind.  A  round-shouhUn-ed. 
broad-waisted,  squint-eyed,  rcd-lioaded  girl  has  lier 
name  entered  on  the  stage  manager's  book  as  readily 
as  the  charming  little  blonde  who  looks  as  if  she  be- 
longed to  the  upper  walks  of  life,  and  appears  many 
■degrees  more  accomplished,  graceful,  and  int(dligent 
than  the  strabismal,  carroty-headed  creature  who  has 
preceded  her.  When  all  have  been  registere«l,  n[)  to 
the  requisite  number,  some  of  the  astonisluMl  and  de- 
liffhted  candidates,  after  having  learned  that  thcv  will 
receive  $4  or  $(),  or,  maybe,  $8,  for  the  week's  ser- 
viceg,  lose  themselves  in  the  intricacies  of  the  scenery 
and  wonder  at  the  beauties  of  the  new  worM  in  wliicU 
they  find  themselves.  Their  next  visit  brings  them 
into  the  presence  of  tlie  ballet  master,  M'ho  regards 
them  physically,  scrutinizing  each  as  the  name  is 
called,  and  seldom  rejecting  any  not  absolutely  de- 
formed who  appear  l)efore  him.  Tliey  are  sent  to  the 
costumer's  and  their  work  begins  at  once.  All  they 
are  required  to  do  is  to  run  up  and  down  or  around  the 
stage  in  drills  and  marches,  or  to  group  themselves  in 
heart-rending  tableaux  at  intervals  during  the  dance. 
The  best  —  that  is,  the  girls  who  are  quick  to  perceive 
and  swift  to  accomplish  the  commands  of  the  master, 
are  selected  for  leaders  and  for  the  principal  Avork  in 
this  subordinate  branch  of  the  spectacle.  Day  after 
day  they  are  drilled  until  the  night  of  the  first  per- 
formance arrives,  when,  often  in  tights  tliat  do  not  fit 
them,  in  costumes  that  are  wrinkled  and  dirty,  they 
flash  in  all  their  awkwardness  and  gloominess  upon  the 
scene,  to  be  laughed  at,  ajid  to  detract  from  instead  of 
adding  to  the  beauty  of  the  spectacle. 

A  newspaper  writer  of  experience  in  this  line  says: 
Few   of  those   who   observe  and  admire  the  gracefid 


CANDIDATES   FOR   SHORT    CLOTHES.  243 

attitudes,  easy  movements,  and  picturesque  evolutions 
of  the  well-trained  chorus  or  l)allct  in  an  opera  have 
any  adequate  conception  of  the  amount  of  practice  and 
hard  work  necessary  for  the  stage  of  perfection  arrived 
at.  A  number  of  years  ago,  when^jallet  girls  were  in 
greater  demand  than  at  present,  an  advertisement  in- 
serted in  New  York  papers  or  those  of  any  other  large 
city  for  material  to  fill  np  the  corps  de  ballet  would 
bring  in  applicants  by  dozens,  and  sometimes  even  by 
hundreds.  The  same  is  true  in  a  less  degree  to-day, 
but  at  that  time  the  waj^es  paid  to  \vorkin<j:  ffirls  were 
far  more  meagre  than  at  the  present  time,  and  the  few 
dollars  per  week  to  be  obtained  in  the  theatre  was  a 
princely  sum  bv  comparison,  and,  though  the  engage- 
ment be  but  a  few  weeks,  the  opportunity  was  gladly 
accepted. 

The  great  majority  of  these  applicants  come  from 
the  lower  working  class,  who  are  induced  by  pecuniary 
motives  alone  to  exhibit  themselves.  They  show  in 
their  faces  and  forms  theiraces  of  hard  work  and  poor 
living,  and  an  expert  master  of  the  ballet  has  need  of 
all  his  skill  to  train  them  and  dispose  them  on  the  stage 
so  that  their  natural  disadvantages  of  form  may  be 
kept  as  much  as  possible  from  public  view.  Now  and 
then,  however,  there  is  a  case  where  the  slamour  of 
the  stage  has  so  fascinated  girls  in  better  circumstances 
that  they  are  ready  to  begin  at  any  round  of  the  lad- 
der in  a  profession  that  seems  so  entirely  imbued 
with  roseate  tints.  It  is  the  exception,  and  not  the 
rule,  for  these  to  persevere  ;  for,  when  brought  face  to 
face  with  the  stern  realities  of  the  case,  their  ardor  is 
dampened,  the  world  seems  hollow,  "  their  dolls  are 
stuffed  with  sawdust,"  and  they  are  prepared  to  cry 
out  vanitas  vanitahim,  and  enjoy  the  rest  of  their 
stage  experiences  from  the  other  side  of  the  foot-lights. 


244       CANDIDATES  FOR  SHORT  CLOTHES. 

These  girls  vary  soiucAvhat  in  age,  but  the  majority 
of  tlicm  arc  not  above  twenty,  as  a  general  rule.  In 
making  an  apj)lication,  they  present  themselves  first  to 
the  stage  manager.  He  takes  note  of  their  age,  size, 
appearance  and  general  contour  of  figure,  and  if  he  l)o 
favorably  impressed  sends  them  to  the  costumer.  He, 
in  his  turn,  hands  them  over  to  the  women  in  his  cm- 
ploy.  There  they  are  compelled  to  strip  and  undergo 
a  complete  examination  of  their  limbs  and  form,  and 
on  the  physical  examination  depends  their  acceptance 
or  rejection. 

In  companies  where  the  ballet  girls  are  simply  femak 
supernumeraries  and  do  nothing  but  march  about  while 
the  danseuse  and  coryphees  engage  the  attention  of 
the  audience,  any  extended  amount  of  training  is  not 
necessary.  Care  is  only  taken  to  obtain  girls  of  ordi- 
narily, fair  physique  and  teach  them  to  march  correctly 
with  the  nmsic.     But  even  this  is  no  small  task. 

These  girls  are  naturally  fitted  for  anything  but  this 
business,  and  it  is  ludicrous  to  observe  the  positions 
they  assume  and  the  gait  they  adopt.  Impressed  with 
the  idea  that  they  must  act  and  walk  dillerently  from 
their  usual  custom,  they  twist  their  l)odie3  and  stalk 
about  in  a  manner  that  is  beyond  description.  These 
improvised  ballets  generally  present  an  exhibition  of 
stiilhess  and  awkwardness  at  the  first  public  appear- 
ance ;  but  that  is  not  to  be  compared  with  the  ungainly 
antics  of  a  first  rehearsal.  In  cases  where  crreater 
pains  are  taken,  and  whore  the  ballet  girls  go  throufh 
many  intricate  evolutions,  the  rehearsals  are  continued 
daily,  when  possible,  for  a  period  of  six  or  eight  weeks, 
and  some  idea  of  the  trials  of  a  ballet  master  may  be 
gathered  from  the  contrast  of  the  first  rehearsal  and 
the  first  performance. 

A  gentleman  of  long  experience  in  theatrical  mat- 


CANDIDATES   FOR   SHORT   CLOTHES. 


245 


ters  says  in  a  talk  with  an  interviewer:  "Well,  I 
should  think  I  ought  to  know  something  about  ballet 
girls.  Why,  when  I  used  to  be  at  the  Old  Comique 
they  were  as  plentiful  as  supers  and  used  to  appear  as 
peasant  girls  in  the  regular  drama. 

"The  rehearsals  would  be  frightfully  confusing  to 
an  outsider.  During  the  last  rehearsal,  before  a  piece 
of  this  kind  is  put  on,  the  stage  looks  like  a  perfect 
pandemonium.  The  chorus  is  being  put  through  its 
final  drill  on 
one  side,  the 
actors  are 
practising 
their  e  n- 
trances,  ex- 
its, and  cues 
on  the  other ; 
behind,  the 
scene  painter  drilling  for  the  chorus. 

and  his  assistants  are  daubing  away,  and  the  trap  man 
and  gas  man  are  both  working  away  in  their  line." 
*'  What  kind  of  girls  were  they  for  the  most  part?  " 
♦*  Oh,  they  came  out  of  factories  and  all  that ;  they 
could  make  from  $6  to  $8  a  week  on  the  stage,  a  good 
deal  better  than  they  could  do  at  their  old  business. 
We  used  to  have  such  a  lot  of  applicants  then  we  could 
pick  out  a  pretty  good  crowd.  Some  of  them  were 
very  nice,  respectable  girls,  but  the  associations  ruined 
most  of  them.  A  good  many  of  them  were  rather  fly 
when  they  first  came  in,  and  besides  being  crooked 
would  put  on  any  amount  of  lug  among  their  compan- 
ions outside.  After  playing  in  the  ballet  two  or  three 
weeks  for  $6  or  $7  a  week,  they  would  go  around  and 
say  that  they  were  actresses,  playing  an  engagement 
at  the  Opera  House,  but  they  didn't  know  exactly 


24G  CANDIDATES    FOll   SIIOHT    CLOTHES. 

how  long  they  shoukl  stay  there.  I  wouldn't  bo  at  all 
surprised  if  they  talked  about  starring  it  in  another 
season ;  that's  wiiat  all  these  lly-by-nights  at  the 
theatres  do  now.  Why,  do  you  know  I  have  had  peo- 
ple come  to  me  and  ask  what  part  Miss  So-and-So  was 
taking,  and  on  looking  into  the  matter  I  would  find 
that  she  was  a  ballet  girl." 

'*  Can't  you  tell  me  of  some  cases  of  girls  who  have 
a  little  romance  about  their  history?  " 

"  Well,  possibly,  but  to  one  behind  the  scenes  there 
is  little  enough  of  the  romantic,  I  can  tell  you.  I  re- 
menil)er  another  case  of  a  girl,  one  of  the  prettiest  and 
best  behaved  we  had  —  quite  a  modest  little  thing,  in 
fact.  But  she  got  picked  up  by  a  middle-aged  rake, 
and  went  to  the  bad.  I  do  not  know  her  whole  story, 
but  I  know  she  used  to  meet  this  fellow  after  the  [)uv- 
formancc  very  often.  After  a  time  she  stated  in  con- 
fidence to  one  of  her  companions  that  she  was  married 
to  him,  and  I  have  no  doui)t  that  she  thought  she  was. 
She  left  the  theatre  after  a  few  weeks  and  went  to  live 
with  him.  But  I  guess  it  didn't  last  long,  for  I  saw 
her  several  years  afterwards  in  one  of  the  lowest  trav- 
elling com[)anics  I  know  of,  as  vile  and  broken-down  a 
wreck  as  you  ever  saw.  If  there  is  any  romance  in  the 
lives  of  these  girls,  this  is  generally  the  style  of  it." 

"  Do  these  girls  ever  rise  in  the  profession?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  some  of  oni-  best  actresses  rise  from  the 
rank-.  It  wouM  make  a  cat  laugh,  though,  to  seethe 
first  time  they  have  a  little  speaking  part  in  a  regular 
drama.  A  girl  can  get  along  all  right  as  long  as  her 
individuality  is  concealed  in  the;  ranks,  but  when  she 
has  to  step  to  the  front  and  say  a  few  words,  she 
waltzes  up  as  though  she  was  walking  on  eggs.  She 
looks  as  if  she  would    like;  to    fall   through  the   stage, 


CANDIDATES    FOR   SHORT    CLOTHES.  247 

swallows  and  hesitates,  and  puts  you  in   doubt  as  to 
whether  you  ought  to  hiugh  or  pity  her." 

Here  is  a  writer  who  takes  another  view  of  the 
affiiir:  "  To  the  uninitiated  male  citizen  the  period  of 
supreme  interest  in  aflairs  behind  the  scenes  is  the 
period  of  a  grand  ballet  or  spectacular  show,  where  a 
hundred  or  two  girls,  who  have  undergone  an  exami- 
nation of  their  faces,  shoulders  and  limbs,  and  been 
accepted  as  presentable  upon  the  stage,  don  tights  and 
make  their  bow  to  the  public.  It  is  not  always  easy 
to  secure  the  required  number  of  girls  who  have  the 
requisite  qualifications  for  an  appearance  in  tights. 
Girls  who  have  never  been  on  are  extremely  bashful 
about  making  their  first  appearance.  The  majority  of 
the  girls  who  answer  the  call  for  *  ladies  for  the  bal- 
let '  are  shop  girls.,  girls  who  take  work  to  their 
homes,  girls  suddenly  thrown  out  of  employment, 
poor  girls  who  have  no  other  way  of  honestly  earning 
a  dollar.  There  are  a  few  who  have  been  in  the  bal- 
let a  number  of  times  before.  They  have  come  to  look 
upon  it  very  much  as  a  business.  They  knit  and  sew 
and  crochet  and  do  fancy-work  behind  the  scenes  dur- 
ing the  stage  waits.  Their  pay  is  liberal  compared 
with  what  they  can  earn  even  in  ways  that  are  consid- 
ered more  respectable,  and  they  have  the  novelty  and 
excitement,  which,  of  course,  are  something  of  an  at- 
traction in  themselves.  Considerable  judgment  has  to 
be  exercised  in  the  selection  of  those  who  aspire  to  the 
costume  of  a  pair  of  tights  and  trunks  or  a  gauze 
dress.  It  is  a  lamentable  fact  that  all  ladies  are  not 
plump  and  symmetrical,  and  for  those  lacking  these 
charms  there  is  no  door  to  the  ballet  stage.  Once  ac- 
cepted as  a  constituent  part  of  a  pageant  which  is  to 
disport  itself  before  the  foot-lights,  the  Jignrante  has  a 
wide  field  for  conquest  open  to  her.     It's  man's  weak- 


248 


CANDIDATES  FOR  SHOUT  CLOTHES. 


;  'tm 


ncss  to  l)c  forever  '  jTfcttiiii::  iroMc  '  on  tlie  fiivorites  of 
the  foot-lights,  to  believe  them  till  beiuitiful  :uul  luscious 
as  thej  seem  from  the  front  of  the  house.  And  so  it  is 
thiit  the  watchman  at  the  stage-door  and  call-boys  divide 
between  them  many  a  dollar  for  carrying  in  billet-doux 
from  the  great  army  of  mashed  masculines.  'Another 
sucker  dead  gone,'  mutters  the  call-boy  as  he  pockets 
_^___  his  liberal  fee  as  mail-carrier. 
UK  RIGS  Perhaps  the  fair  object  of  the 
masher's  admiration  '  won't 
have  it,'  but  there  arc  among 
her  sisters  those  who,  to  a 
promisingly  liberal  and  attrac- 
tive stranger,  would  not  let  the 
lack  of  an  introduction  stand  in 
the  way  of  their  graciousness. 
'  'Sh,'  they  say  to  the  call-boy. 
'  'Sh  !  Don't  say  a  word.  Tell 
him  we'll  see  him  later.  Look 
for  us  at  the  stage-door  when 
our  act  is  over.'  " 

And  now  let  us  sec  how  they 
do  these  things  in  France, 
where  the  cancan  flourishes  and 
the  Jardin  Mal)illc,  with  its 
high  kickers,  is  the  temple  to- 
wards which  pleasure-seeking  pilgrims  bend  when  they 
visit  their  Mecca — La  Belle  Paris.  A  visitor  to  the 
dancing  green-room  of  tiu^  Grand  Opera,  there,  will 
find  that  at  night  it  is  brilliantly  lighted,  and  the  ef- 
fect of  the  gas-jets  is  greatly  increased  l)y  the  numer- 
ous larjre  mirrors  which  almost  conceal  the  walls.  In 
front  of  each  of  these  mirrors  stands  a  wooden  post  a 
little  higher  than  one's  waist,  and  bcfon;  a  dancing  girl 
sets  off,  she  raises  one  foot  after  the  other   until   she 


THK    " SUCKER 


CANDIDATES  FOR  SHORT  CLOTHES.       249 

places  it  horizontally  on  one  of  these  posts,  where  she 
keeps  it  for  some  time,  then  quitting  this  position  and 
taking  hold  of  the  post  with  one  hand  she  practices  all 
her  steps,  and  after  having  in  this  way  "  set  herself 
off,"  she  waters  the  floor  with  a  handsome  watering- 
pot,  and  before  the  large  mirrors,  which  reach  down  to 
the  mop-board,  she  goes  through  all  the  steps  she  is 
about  to  dance  on  the  stage.  The  leading  dancing 
girlscommonly  wear  old  pumps  and  small  linen  gaiters, 
very  loose,  in  order  to  avoid  soiling  their  stockings  or 
stocking-net.  When  the  call-boy  gives  his  first  notice, 
they  hasten  to  throw  off  their  gaiters  and  put  on  new 
pumps,  chosen  for  their  softness  and  suppleness, 
whose  seams  they  have  carefully  stitched  beforehand. 
The  call-boy  appears  at  the  door,  "  Mesdemoiselles, 
now's  your  time  !  the  curtain  is  up  !  "  and  the  flock  of 
dancing;  o-irls  hasten  to  the  stao^e.  Amono^the  Parisian 
ballet  corps  one  sees  the  strangest  vicissitudes  of  for- 
tune, the  most  wonderful  ups  and  downs  of  life. 
Some,  who  yesterday  were  glad  to  receive  the  meanest 
charity  of  their  comrades,  who  joyfully  accepted  old 
dancing  pumps,  and  wore  them  for  shoes,  and  faded 
bonnets  and  thrice-mended  clothes,  appear  to-day  in 
lace,  silks,  cashmeres,  with  coachman,  valet,  carriage 
and  pair.  The  sufferings,  the  privations,  the  ftitigue, 
and  the  courage  of  these  poor  girls  ere  the  miserable 
worm,  the  chrysalis,  is  metamorphosed  into  the  brilliant 
butterfly,  cannot  be  conceived.  Bread  and  water  sup- 
port the  life*of  more  than  half  of  them  ;  many  would 
be  glad  to  feel  sure  of  it  regularly  twice  a  day.  A 
great  number  who  live  three  or  four  miles  from  the 
Grand  Opera  trudge  that  distance  almost  shoeless  to 
their  morning  dancing  lesson,  rehearsals,  and  evening 
performances,  and  on  their  return  home,  long  after 
midnight,    in   the    summer's    rains    and   the   winter's 


250       CANDIDATES  FOR  SHORT  CLOTHES. 

snows,  nothing  ])noys  them  np  hut  the  fond  liopc, 
often  delusive,  that  the  future  has  ii  I)iighter  and  bet- 
ter time  in  store  for  them. 

The  Nautcli  dancers,  mentioned  in  the  preceding 
chapter,  are  consecrated  to  the  temple  from  chiklhood, 
and  the  graceful  and  fascinating  poses  to  which  the 
people  of  this, country  have  been  introduced  by  an  en- 
terprising American,  are  portions  of  their  sacred  dances 
before  the  shrines  of  their  dizzy  deities.  I  think  four 
of  these  jiirls  came  to  this  countrv  oriixinallv,  and  all 
but  one  died.  Still,  there  were  forty  so-called  Nantch 
dancers  put  upon  the  variety  stage  and  in  specialty 
troupes,  ordinary  but  clever  American  ballet  girls 
being  painted  for  the  occasion,  and  dressed  in  a  semi- 
oriental  costume.  They  made  no  pretensions  to  do 
the  Nautch  dance,  in  which  the  swaying  of  the  body, 
keeping  time  with  the  feet,  and  howling  a  lugubrious 
hymn  are  the  features,  there  being  no  hopi)ing  or 
whirling  around  ;  but  the  fraudulent  Kautch  girls  of 
the  specialty  troupes  pirouetted  and  pranced  in  the 
steps  of  the  old-time  l)allet,  with  which  we  all  ought  to 
be  familiar  if  wo  are  not. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 


TRAINING    BALLET    DANCERS. 


"  Well,  now,  I  don't  think  that's  so  awful  hard," 
said  a  fellow  knight  of  the  pencil,  one  evening  as  we 
both  leaned  upon  the  rear  row  of  chairs  in  the  old 
Theatre  Comique  at  St.  Louis,  since  destroyed  by  fire, 
and  bent  our  heads  forward  in  an  inquisitive  look  at 
the  ballet  of  "  The  Fairy  Fountain,"  or  something  of 
that  sort.  The  remark  was  meant  to  apply  to  the 
evolutions  of  the  premiere  as  she  spun  around  on  one 
toe  and  threw  a  graceful  limb  up  toivards  the  roof  of 
the  house  every  time  she  gave  a  whirl. 

"  If  you  don't,"  said  I,  "you  just  try  it  once,  and 
you'll  find  out  exactly  how  hard  it  is?" 

I  had  made  this  retort  wildly  and  without  knowing, 
myself,  anything  much  about  the  difficulties  of  ballet 
dancino;.  It  dawned  on  me  that  here  was  an  excellent 
field  for  inquiry,  so  having  obtained  the  permission  of 
Manager  W.  C.  Mitchell,  who  was  running  the 
Comique,  to  go  behind  the  scenes  to  interview  the  bal- 
let master  ;  next  evening  found  me  early  at  the  stage 
door.  I  was  soon  inside  picking  ray  way  through  the 
labyrinth  of  scenery,  stage  properties,  scene  shifters, 
supers,  actors  and  people  generally  who  crowd  and 
jostle  each  other  in  this  mimic  world,  and  I  was  in  im- 
minent danger  every  now  and  then  of  an  impromptu 
debut  before  the  public,  and  of  finding  myself  stand- 
ing figuratively  on  my  head  before  an  unappreciative 
audience.     At  last  the  ballet  master  —  Sig.  J.  F.  Car- 

(251) 


"o- 


252  TUAINIXa   BALLET   DANCERS. 

dclla,  a  thin,  wiiy  man  who  sccincd  to  be  in  tlic  decline 
of  life  —  was  found  in  his  tights,  leaning  in  an  easy 
attitude  airainst  one  of  the  "  winijs." 

^'■Bona  sera,  Sifjnor,^^  I  said  in  the  best  Italian  I 
could  muster. 

'■'■  Gvazia,^^  returned  the  mailre  in  the  most  welcom- 
ing manner  in  the  world,  as  he  invited  me  to  a  qui(!l 
corner  where  we  sat  down  on  a  cracker-box. 

The  object  of  the  visit  was  briefly  ex[)lained,  and 
Sig.  Cardella  rattled  off  his  answers  in  a  ready  and 
intelliirible  manner,  the  sweet  Italian  accents  falling 
from  his  tongue  with  the  same  rapidity  and  precision 
that  he  twinkled  his  feet  in  the  ballet  when  occasion 
required.  He  said  he  had  made  his  first  appearance  in 
the  ballet  twenty  years  before,  when  he  was  twenty 
years  of  age.  IIo  had  been  put  in  training,  like  other 
children,  at  the  age  of  twelve  years,  in  the  Theatre  La 
Scala  —  the  government  school  —  which  has  given 
the  world  so  many  famous  dancers.  Here  he  remained 
eiirht  vears. 

♦'  Children,"  said  Cardella,  "  are  admitted  to  this 
school  as  early  as  ten  years  and  as  late  as  twelve, 
and  there  is  a  regular  routine  of  study  that  cannot  be 
finished  in  less  than  eight  years.  It  is  long  and  ardu- 
ous, and  especially  difficult  when  it  is  understood  that 
pupils  in  this  cC)untry  arrive  at  stage  honors  in  an  im- 
mensely less  time,  in  fact  in  as  many  months  as  we  arc 
required  to  put  in  years  of  study  in  the  old  country." 

"  I  sup[)oso  La  Scala  is  under  the  tuition  of  the 
very  best  masters,"  said  I. 

"  Oh  yes,  indeed,"  responded  the  maitre  de  ballet, 
assuringly  ;   "  my     fiist     teacher    was    the    celebrated 
l)lo/,is,  and  al'ter    him    ( )usse,  both    French,  and    both 
great  masters." 
"  But  old?" 


TRAINING   BALLET   DANCERS. 


253 


<( 


Yes,  old  ;  but  they  had  their  stage  triumphs,  and 
the  recollection  of  these  kept  theii*  limbs  strong  and 


DONNA   JULIAS'    EYES. 


their  joints  almost  as  supple  as  they  had  been  in  their 
younger  years,  when  they  themselves  went  forth  from 


25i  TRAINING   BALLET   DANCERS. 

La  Scala  as    premieres,  to  win    the    a])i)laus(>   of   the 
public." 

"  l^ovs  ami  jrirls  are  admit  tod  to  La  Scala?  " 
"Boys  and  i^ii-ls ;  ])iit  all  must  pass  a  i)liysical 
examination  just  as  applicants  for  army  service  are 
required  to  flo.  If  they  are  fortunate  in  haviiiu-  hccn 
endowed  by  nature  with  health  and  symmetry  of  form 
they  arc  received  into  the  school  and  enter  at  once 
upon  its  rigorous  course  of  training.  Oh,  I  tell  you  a 
ballet  school  is  not  the  same  here  as  it  is  in  the  old 
country.  There  must  be  perfect  silence  ;  not  a  word 
from  the  moment  the  master  appears  before  the  line 
of  pupils,  and  after  that  nothing  but  the  motions  of 
the  hundred  or  more  bodies  and  the  beating  of  the 
master's  stick  upon  the  floor." 

"  IIow  long  must  they  practice  each  day?  " 
*'  Well,  ])efore  they  are  supposed  to  enter  the 
academy  at  all,  they  must  have  had  one  or  two  years' 
practice  outside.  In  the  acadcn)y  they  have  four 
hours'  practice  under  the  direction  of  the  master 
ever}'  day  ;  but  many  of  them  do  more  work  than  this, 
especially  the  most  ambitious.  I  used  to  practice  from 
'eight  to  twelve  hours  daily,  and  even  after  having  left 
the  academy  I  kept  u\)  my  daih'  exercise  for  increas- 
ing the  limberness  of  the  joints  and  the  toughness  of 
the  cartilages.  The  more  practice,  the  nearer  per- 
fection." 

r>L""Mnoso  the  pupils  arc  divided  into  classes,  aro 
they  not?" 

*♦  Yes  ;  we  have  four  lines  of  dancers  in  Italy.  You 
have  only  three  here.  Wo  place  our  coryphees  farth- 
crcst  ofTfrom  the  premiere  ;  you  put  them  alongside. 
The  beginners  at  La  Scala  go  into  the  coryphee  class, 
from  which  they  are  gradually  advanced  to  the 
secunda    Una,  then  to    the   prima    Una,  ami,    after- 


(255) 


OBERON    AND    TITANIA. 


Oberon:  —  What  thou  see'st  when  thou  dost  wake 
Do  it  for  thy  true  love  take. 

Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  Act,  II.,  Scene  3. 


25G  TRAINING    BALLET    DANCERS. 

wjirds,  to  solo  parts,  wlicn  they  practically  become 
premieres." 

"  But  ci<^ht  years,"  I  suggested,  "  is  a  long  time  to 
be  working  without  any  return  in  the  shape  of  either 
money  or  glor}'?  " 

"Ah,  there  you  are  mistaken,"  Cardella  answered, 
pleased  to  find  that  newspaper  men  sometimes  make 
mistakes.  "  Tiie  pui)ils  at  La  Scala  are  paid  some- 
thing from  the  time  they  enter  the  academy.  They 
first,  while  mere  cor^'phecs,  get  thirty  francs  a  month  ; 
in  the  second  line,  sixty  francs;  in  the  third,  eighty; 
and  when  advanced  to  solo  parts,  two  hundred  francs 
a  month.  At  this  they  stop  until  they  finish  their 
schooling,  when- they  take  places  in  the  principal 
theatres,  make  the  usual  tour  of  the  provinces  and 
of  the  continent,  and  finally  settle  down,  if  tlioy  have 
not  become  fainous,  to  some  solid  competency,  just  as 
I  have  done  myself." 

"  So  much  for  the  dancing  boys  and  girls  of  Italy  ; 
but  how  about  the  Iwdlet  in  this  country?" 

*'  Oh,  it  is  nothing  like  Avhat  Europe  produces. 
You  have  no  schools  here  except  the  theatres,  and  girls 
when  they  come  to  learn  the  ballet,  as  they  have  often 
came  to  me,  ask :  '  Do  you  tiiink  I  can  dance  in  a 
week  or  two? '  It  is  absurd  the  way  they  want  to  do. 
"Why,  in  my  country  I  practised  for  eight  years  before 
I  would  be  allowed  to  appear  i)ublicly  in  the  theatre, 
and  had  'practised  two  years  before  that  at  home,  and 
yet  these  American  girls  think  they  can  become  good 
dancers  in  a  week  or  two." 

"  What  do  you  say  to  such  applicants?" 

"  I  say,  '  No,  you  can't  dance  in  a  week  or  two, 
nor  in  a  month  or  two  ;  but  if  you  want  to  practice  for 
several  months  I  can  place  you  on  the  stage.'  And  I 
say  this  because  I  know  American  girls  can  make  good 


TRAINING    BALLET    DANCERS. 


257 


dancers  if  they  are  in  earnest    and  apply  themselves 
hard  ;  they  can  make   passable  ballet  girls  even  if  they 
give  only  a  fair  share  of  their  attention  to  the  study." 
"  What  do  you  think  of  the  American  ballet?" 


MEASURING    FOR    THE    COSTUME. 

"  It  cannot  be  good,  of -course,  as  long  as  the  public 
does  not  give  it  the  attention  and  patronage  it  requires 
to  make  it  good.  In  the  old  country  the  ballet  is 
everything  ;  in  this  it  is  comparatively  nothing.     They 

17 


258  TUAININO    IJALLET    DANCERS. 

make  it  sul).scrvicnt  to  everything  else  oii  tiie  stage. 
Managers  do  not  care  to  pay  for  good  troiii)cs,  and  tho 
tronpes  arc  eonsccpiently  small  and  poor." 

*'  But  is  there  not  plenty  of  employment  for  good 
ballet  dancers?" 

"Always.  Each  company  has  few  that  can  bo 
ranked  as  soloists,  and  this  is  because  sfood  dancers  are 
not  numerous.  As  I  have  sugirostcd  before,  the 
American  girl  is  not  sufficiently  ambitious  in  this  line  ; 
their  stage  yearnings  are  mostly  for  speaking  parts  on 
tho  dramatic  stage,  and  they  arc  not  very  devout  wor- 
shippers at  tho  shrine  of  Terpsichore." 
"  How  are  American  ballet  girls  paid?  " 
*'  Pretty  well ;  but  nothing  like  what  they  got  before 
the  war.  ]\Iadame  Gallati,  Avho  was  my  wife,  l)eforo 
the  rebellion,  never  got  less  than  $150  a  week,  and 
after  the  war  was  paid  $100.  Premieres  now  do  not 
get  more  than  $75,  and  they  are  in  very  good  luck 
when  they  get  that  nmch.  The  coryphees  and  others 
get  from  $35  a  week  down  as  low  as  $15.  And  out  of 
this  they  must  furnish  their  own  wardrobes.  They 
must  lay  out  from  $5  a  week  upwards  for  their  stage 
clothes,  and  when  a  ballet  is  on  that  requires  rich 
dressing  the  wardrol)es  may  exceed  their  whole  week's 
salary  ;  but  then,  you  know,  they  can  prepare  for  an 
emergency  of  this  kind  by  laying  l)y  a  portion  of  the 
salary  of  the  weeks  in  which  no  new  ballet  is  brought 
out.  Some  of  the  ballets  run  lor  a  month,  but  tho 
usual  run  is  two  weeks." 

*'  The  maitre  does  not  always  dance?  " 
'*  No,  he  dances  very  seldom  ;  but  he  earns  his 
money  though.  lie  is  kept  busy  two  or  three  hours 
every  day,  Sunday  included,  teaching  the  old  and 
young  ideas  of  th(^  ballet,  how  to  shoot  out  their 
limbs,  pose,  pirouette,  etc.     It  requires  all  tlu;  time 


TRAINING    BALLET    DANCERS.  259 

I  can  give  to  it  to  prepare  a  new  ballet.  Just  as  soon 
as  a  new  one  is  put  on  the  stage  I  begin  to  train  the 
girls  in  another  one,  and  this  training  is  kept  up  until 
the  day  before  the  novelty  is  to  be  presented  to  the 
public.  During  this  time  of  preparation  I  have  tiie 
entire  troupe  on  the  stage  two  hours  every  morning, 
except  matinee  days,  when,  of  course,  there  is  no  re- 
hearsal. I  show  them  the  steps  and  they  have  to 
practice  them.  They  are  supposed  to  practice  some  at 
home,  but,  of  course,  the  majority  of  them  never  do 
so." 

"  Have  you  many  applicants  now-a-days?  " 

"Not  very  many.  Once  in  a  while  a  girl  or  two 
will  apply,  but  nearly  all  of  them  are  unworthy  in 
point  of  physique  to  be  received,  and  so  are  sent  away. 
I  do  not  care  so  much  for  nice  features,  for  the  ugliest 
can  be  embellished  sufficiently  to  look  handsome  be- 
fore the  foot-lights  but  good  forms  are  indispensable, 
and  particularly  strong,  symmetrical  limbs.  The  ap- 
plicants come  from  all  grades  and  classes  of  life,  and 
not  a  few  are  young  girls  of  good  but  obscure  connec- 
tion, who  have  ambition  to  win  glory  and  money  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing  from  the  public,  and  who  fondly 
imagine  that  the  ballet  girl  lives  a  butterfly  existence, 
instead  of  being  the  hardworking,  temptation-beset 
creature  that  she  really  is." 

"And  they  all  want  to  get  on  the  stage  in  a  very 
short  time?  " 

"  Yes,  the  invariable  question  is,  '  Can  I  dance  in  a 
few  weeks?'  and  then  they  want  me  to  show  them  the 
<  steps  '  and  to  let  them  try  to  duplicate  them.  I  tell 
them  there  is  no  use  ;  if  they  want  to  dance  they  must, 
as  the  Irishman  says,  begin  at  the  beginning.  You 
can't  know  music  without  learning  the  notes  ;  you 
can't  read  without  knowing  the  ABC;  and  so  with 


<^s^>^- 


_/      ■  ■  .-^ 


j: 


%"-: 


h 


.'  f 


J 


(2GU)      M.  J;.  cuKTib,  IN  sam'l  of  ro&ExN. 


TRAINING   BALLET   DANCERS.  2G1 

the  ])allet,  you  can't  dance  without  first  having  acquired, 
its  alphabet." 

*'  How  do  you  generally  start  a  pupil  out?  " 

"  They  have  got  to  go  to  what  we  call  the  'sideboard' 
practice  first ;  that  is,  they  must  take  hold  of  something 
for  a  rest,  and  go  through  the  first  five  steps  " — and 
here  the  maitre  got  up  from  the  cracker-box,  and  taking 
hold  of  a  "  wing,"  placed  his  feet  heel  to  heel,  turned 
them  out  straiii:ht  without  bending  the  knees  into  an 
unsightly  attitude,  and  said  this  was  the  first  ste^j  ;  the 
four  others  Avere  much  the  same  as  the  attitudes  taken 
at  difierent  times  by  elocutionists,  one  foot  being  pushed 
forward  and  then  another.  "  Then  I  show  them  how 
to  do  this,"  andhebeo:an  twistins;  one  les;  after  another 
backward  and  forward  until  I  thought  he  would  twist 
both  off,  but  he  didn't.  "After  that,"  continued  Sig. 
Cardella,  "  which  in  this  country  takes  about  a  month, 
but  in  La  Scala  takes  six  months,  I  begin  to  show 
them  a  step  or  two  at  a  time,  and  gradually  lead  them 
up  until  they  know  a  little." 

*'  But  now  and  then  we  see  a  very  fresh  and  green 
foot,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  on  the  stage." 

"  Oh,  of  course  ;  we've  got  to  make  up  a  fair  num- 
ber for  a  troupe  sometimes,  and  I  then  allow  a  girl  to 
go  on,  whom  I  think  smart  enough  not  to  make  a  fool 
of  herself.  You  see  although  the  American  ffirl  is 
smart  and  sharp,  and  pretty  original  in  many  other 
things,  she  is  entirely  imitative  in  dancing.  She 
watches  the  other  girls,  and  although  she  may  not  even 
be  fairly  grounded  in  the  fundamental  principles  of 
ballet  dancing,  she  frequently  faces  an  audience  and 
does  well —  sometimes  astonishiiiorlv  well  in  fact.  Some 
of  these  girls  climb  up  out  of  the  ranks  very  fast ;  others 
who  are  lazy  and  give  too  much  time  to  flirting  and 
drinking  wine,  remain  in  the  same  line,  usually  the  last, 


202 


TRAINING    BALLET    DANCEUS. 


for  j^ears,  luul  iire  really  in  a  ballet  master's  way  all  the 

time." 

"  How  are  ballet  girls  as  a  class?  " 

"  Some  of  them,"  said  Cardella,  with  a  shake  of  his 
head  and  an  expression  of  i)ity  on  his  face,  "  are  a  little 
fond  and  foolish  at  times." 

"And  they  have  their  admirers  who  bother  them,  in 
and  out  of  the  theatre,  and  send  them  pretty  presents, 
big  boqucts  and  such  ?  ' ' 


A    I'lIEMIKUK    ]5I:F()KK    'IIIIO    AUDIKNCE. 

"Oh  well,  now,  I  kn(;w  very  little  about  that.  Some 
of  them  have  families  to  support,  and  manage  to  wear 
l)etter  clothes  and  more  jewelry  than  th(!ir  salaries 
could  pay  for.  I  could  tell  you  lots  of  funny  incidents 
about  ballet  girls,  billet-doux  and  ]V\]\y  boys,  but  you 
see  that  nigger  act  is  nearly  through,  and  I've  got  to 
go  and  look  after  my  girls."  And  with  an  "-AdiOf 
Siqnorr'   and  a  wave  of  his  hand,  he  withdrew. 


TRAINING  BALLET   DANCERS.  263 

I  went  up  to  the  Alcazar  on  Monday  night  to  see 
Bonfanti  dance.     I  have  a  great  respect  for  Bonfanti. 
She  is  a  woman  of  character.     When  she  first  danced 
here  the  town  was  wild  about  her,  and  one  young  man, 
the    son  of  rich  and    proud   parents,  offered   her  his 
hand  in  marriage.     She  hesitated  for  awhile,  but  he 
argued  that  because  he  was  rich  and  his  parents  proud 
was  no  reason  that  he  should  be  made  unhappy  by  her 
refusal  to  marry  him.     She  thought  it  over  and  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  he  was  right.     So  Mile.  Bon- 
fanti became  Mrs.  Hoffman  forthwith.     The  hue  and 
cry  raised  by  the  Hoffmans  was  so  violent  that  the 
young  man  could  not  stand  it,  and  took  his  wife  to 
Europe.     His  family  allowed  him  little  or  no  money, 
and  he,  having  been  very  unpractically  educated,  could 
find  no  means  of  support.     He  was  delicate  and  he  fell 
ill  and  died.     Then  Bonfanti,  or  Mrs.  Hofi'man,  came 
to  New  York  to  claim  her  rights  as  the  wife  of  the 
son  and  heir  of  the  Hoffmans,  but  they  behaved  in 
a  way  that  wounded  her  pride  —  for  ballet  dancers  as 
well  as  Hoffmans   have   pride  —  and  she  declined  to 
accept  any  aid  from  them  whatever.     "As  long  as  I 
have  my  feet  to  dance  with,"  she  said,  "  I  can  take 
care  of  myself,  and  I  want  none  of  their  money."     So 
she  went  back  to  the  ballet,  and  has  been  dancing  ever 
since.     1  couldn't  help  thinking  as  1  looked  at  her  the 
other  night,  that  scions  of  proud  New  York  families 
had  often  made  worse  matches.     She  has  a  good  and 
still  handsome  face,  and   she  dances  as  gracefully  as 
ever.     She  is  modest  even  when  pointing  at  the  foot- 
li«>-hts  with  one  toe  and  at  the  chandelier  with  the  other. 
Bonfanti  is  not  one  of  the  grinning  dancers.     Her  face 
wears  a  rather  sad  expression,  and  she  only  smiles  in 
acknowledgment  of  the    applause    of  the    audience. 
The  competition  with  Lepri  makes  her  do  her  best, 
and  it  is  a  regular  dancing  mutcu  every  night. 


CHAPTER     XVIII. 


PLAYS    AND    I'LAY  WHIG  UTS. 

At  seven  o'clock  one  morning  during  the  season  of 
1881-2  a  tall,  jjawkv,  anixular-lookin":  young  man  in  a 
suit  of  smutty  aiul  wrinldod  gray,  under  a  battered 
sloucli  hat  with  a  l)andit  curl  to  its  wide  brim,  stood  at 
the  door  of  one  of  the  rooms  of  the  Southern  Hotel  in 
St.  Louis.  He  had  a  big  bundle  under  his  ai-ni,  and 
seemed  tired,  as  indeed  he  was,  for  he  had  climbed  four 
pairs  of  stairs  and  walked  the  lower  hall-ways  from  one 
end  to  the  other  looking  for  the  room  which  he  had  now 
found.  He  knocked  kindly  at  first,  but  got  no  answer  ; 
knocked  again  with  the  same  result,  and  again  and 
again.  The  fifth  time  somebody  said  "  Come  in,'! 
and  the  young  man  twisted  the  knob  and  in  a  moment 
was  standing  at  the  bedside  of  the  late  Oscar  G.  Ber- 
nard, business  manager  of  the  Couldock-Ellslcr  Hazel 
Kirke  Company.  Bernard  was  still  in  bed  and  very 
sleepy. 

**  I've  got  a  play  I  want  to  read  to  you,"  said  the 
young  man,  shifting  the  bundle  he  had  under  his  arm 
down  into  his  hands,  wMiero  ^Ir.  Bernard  could  sec  it. 

*»A  what?"  the  manager  exclaimed,  rising  hinriedly 
upon  his  elbow  and  looking  out  through  drowsy  eye- 
lids at  a  pile  of  foolscap  manuscript  big  enough  to  fill 
a  French  Cyclopedia. 

"A  phiv,"  was  the  visitor's  answer,  in  a  quiet,  un- 
alarnx'd  tone. 

( 2<M ) 


PLAYS   AND    PLAYWllIGHTS.  265 

*'  Is  that  it?  "  Bernard  asked,  as  he  eyed  the  pack- 
age of  manuscript  with  astonishment. 

*'  Yes,  sir ;  there  are  only  439  pages." 

"Oh,  is  that  all?  How  many  characters,  scenes, 
and  acts,  and  how  long  do  you  think  it  would  take  to 
play  it?  "  asked  the  manager,  trying  to  be  as  sarcastic 
as  possible. 

"  There  are  forty-seven  characters  in  the  dramatis 
personce,''^  the  playwright  ans^v«red,  nothing  daunted, 
"  nine  acts,  and  it  mio;ht  take  three  hours  or  more  to 
play  it  through." 

*'  How  many  people  get  killed  in  it?  " 

*'  Only  thirteen." 

*'  Oh,  pshaw  !  "  said  the  manager  ;  "  go  and  kill  off 
thirty  more  of  'em  and  then  you  will  have  a  play  worth 
talking  about.  You've  got  to  kill  somebody  off  every 
five  minutes  to  make  it  stick.  You  needn't  leave  any 
more  of  them  alive  than  just  enough  to  group  into  a 
happy  tableau  at  the  end  of  the  last  act." 

"  I  don't  think  I  can  do  it,"  said  the  playwright. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  can,"  the  manager  insisted.  "  Just 
try  it  once  ;  and  here,  take  this  pass  and  go  and  see 
'  Hazel  Kirke  '  to-night.  It  plays  only  until  eleven 
o'clock,  and  we  don't  think  it  quite  long  enough.  If 
you  could  tone  your  play  down  so  that  we  might  use 
it  for  a  kind  of  prologue  or  something  of  that  sort  it 
would  be  better." 

The  young  man  took  the  pass  and  departed.  He 
was  the  queerest  dramatist  the  country  and  century  have 
produced,  except  possibly  A.  C.  Gunter.  He  was  fully 
six  feet  high,  large  and  sharp-featured,  with  a  light 
like  lunacy  dazzling  in  his  black  eyes  and  across  his 
sallow  face.  His  hands  were  large  and  his  feet  big,  and 
as  he  ambled  along  the  hotel  hall  he  looked  like  an 
over-grown  plowboy  who  had  suddenly  and  mysteri- 


2C>C)  TLAYS   AND   PLArU'iaOIITS. 

ouslj  turned  book-pocKllcr.      Besides  all  this  he  scenicd 
very  hungry. 

Early  the  next  morning  he  was  at  Bernard's  l)ed-sidc 
again.     He  had  seen  ♦'  Hazel  Kirke,"  and  thought  over 
the  manager's  advice,  but  had  not  made  the  chansres 
suggested  because  he  was  of  the  opinion  now  more 
than  ever  that  the    play    would   suit    Mr.     Bernard. 
Would  the  manager  allow  him  to  read  it  out  to  him? 
Its  title  was  *'  Love  and  the  Grave."     The  manairer 
said  he  might  leave  the  manuscript  to  bo  looked  over 
during  the  day,  but  the  dramatist  said  he  preferred  to 
read  it  so  that  none  of  the  good  points  would  be  lost. 
Then  the  manager  told  him  to  call  again.     He  called 
airain  carlv  the  next  morniuir.     The  manaucr  was  still 
too  busy  and  too  sleepy  to  hear  the  play.     The  dram- 
atist said  he  hated  to  i)art  from  his  manuscript ;  he  had 
been  live   years   writing  the  play,  but  he  liked  Mr. 
Bernard  and  would  leave  it  with  him  for  twenty-four 
hours.     The  manairer  suirirestcd  that  there  was  a  pos- 
sibility  of  the  play  being  lost  if  the  hotel  were  to  take 
lire,  but  the  young  man  answered  that  he  had  ascer- 
tained that  the  hotel  was  fire-proof,  and  he  was  willing 
to  take  the  chances.     He  went  away  leaving  the  vol- 
uminous manuscri])t  in  the  manager's  possession.     Of 
course  Bernard  didn't  read  it,  but  when  the  dramatist 
returned  Friday  morning  he  told  him  it  was  very  good, 
and  if  the  dramatist  cared  he  could  give  him  a  letter 
to  the  manager  of  a  Chinese  theatre  in  San  Francisco, 
who  would  l)e  glad  to  purchase  and  produce  such  a  play. 
The  dramatist  hoisted  his  maimscript  under  his  arm, 
said  he  was  sorry  the  Madison  Sfjuare  people  couldn't 
use  it,  and  went  out  hungrier-looking  and  more  awkward 
than  ever.     Bernard  hoped  that  it  was  the  last  of  him. 
But    it  was  not.     AVhile   Bernard   was  in  John  T. 
Raymond's  room  the  following  afternoon  a  knock  was 


PLAYS   AND   PLAYWRIGHTS.  267 

heard  at  the  door  and  in  walked  the  dramatist.  He 
did  not  recognize  Mr.  Bernard  but  told  Raymond  in 
piteous  tones  that  the  man  he  (Raymond)  had  recom- 
mended him  to  would  not  allow  him  to  read  the  play, 
and  didn't  want  it.  A  light  flashed  upon  Bernard. 
Raymond  laughed  heartily.  Bernard  did  not  laugh. 
It  was  one  of  the  comedian's  practical  jokes.  He  had 
sent  the  Illinois  dramatist  to  the  "  Hazel  Kirke  "  man- 
ager with  positive  instructions  to  insist  upon  reading 
the  Chinese  play  to  him.  After  the  comedian  had  had 
his  laugh,  he  pulled  a  nickel  with  a  hole  in  it  out  of 
his  pocket,  and,  turning  to  the  playwright,   said  :  — 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  "I'll  match  you  for 
the  play.  If  I  win  I  take  the  manuscript.  If  you  win 
you  take  the  nickel." 

The  dramatist  was  disgusted.  He  said  all  he  wanted 
was  money  enough  to  get  back  to  Springfield,  111., 
where  he  edited  a  daily  paper.  If  he  had  that  he  would 
be  happy.  Bernard  and  Raymond  each  gave  him  a 
$5  bill  and  sent  him  on  his  way  rejoicing. 

The  trials  and  tribulations  of  the  gawky  young  dra- 
matist from  the  Sucker  State  is  but  a  slightly  exagger- 
ated and  caricaturish  recital  of  the  difficulties  that  have 
been  lying  in  the  path  of  American  dramatists  ever 
since  we  made  anything  like  an  attempt  at  a  distinc- 
tively national  dramatic  literature.  It  has  been  all 
along,  pretty  much  the  same  with  the  young  American 
who  wrote  a  play  as  it  was  with  the  seedy  English 
authors  of  Sheridan's  time.  Fresh  from  his  garret, 
and  as  hungry  for  fame  and  fortune  as  he  was  badly  in 
need  of  a  meal,  the  young  man  who  had  written  a 
drama  appeared  in  shabby-genteel  attire  at  the  door  of 
the  manager's  office,  and  after  introducing  himself, 
handed  over  his  manuscript,  which  was  tossed  into  a 
drawer  or  box,  while  the  poor  author,  trembling  with 


2(j8  plays  and  playwrights. 

agilution,  was  told  to  return  iii  :i  week  or  luontli.  You 
may  ])c  sure  the  clays  ami  nii^hts  were  nervously  passed 
until  the  appointed  time  rolled  around.  Then,  bright 
and  early,  still  hopeful  and  still  hungry,  the  author 
was  at  tlie  manager's  door. 

"  "Well,  sir,  what  do  you  wish?  "  was  the  abrupt  and 
startling  greeting  accorded  the  author. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  read  my  play  "  — 

«'  What  play?" 

The  author  names  it  and  the  manager  sternly  says  : 
*'  No,  sir,  I  haven't  read  it  and  know  nothing  about  it. 
When  did  you  leave  it  here?  " 

*'A  month  ai^o,  sir." 

"  Well  I  don't  think  it  would  do  jnc  any  good  to 
read  it.  I  haven't  either  the  time  or  the  inclination. 
If  you  want  it  search  in  that  box,  and  if  you  can't  find 
your  own  you  can  take  your  choice  of  any  of  those  in 
there." 

This  was,  of  course,  a  crusher.  The  young  author 
moved  away  with  a  bleeding  heart,  and  liis  armful  of 
manuscript,  and  the  stage  to  which  his  hopes  and  am- 
bition had  been  attracted  proba])ly  never  ollered  him 
an  opportunity  to  have  his  play  damned  on  a  first 
night.  American  draunitists  are  to-day  pretty  much 
in  the  same  plight  in  regard  to  American  managers 
and  the  American  stage.  Very  few  of  our  dramatic 
authors  have  received  proper  recognition,  and  few  who 
have  toiled  at  writing  and  dramatizing  for  years  have 
much  fame  or  money  to  show  for  their  Avork.  Ameri- 
can managers  have  a  rage  for  foreign  works,  and  just 
now  are  pouring  thousands  of  dollars  into  the  jxx-kets 
of  English  and  French  playwriglits,  whose  woi-k  is  by 
no  means  superior  to  that  to  be  found  in  Ihe  home 
market.  Some  years  ago  that  vci-y  successfid  phiy  of 
"The  Two  Orphajis  "  was  purchased  by  an  American 


I'LAYa    AND    PLAYWUIGHTS.  269 

from  its  French  author  for  :i  mere  song.  Now,^  Sar- 
dou  gets  $10,000  for  a  phiy  like  "  Odette,"  which  has 
so  far,  I  believe,  failed  to  bring  that  amount  back  to 
Mr.  French,  the  purchaser.  Samuel  Colville  paid 
Messrs.  Pcttitt  &  Merritt,  of  London,  an  enormous 
sum  for  the  melodrama  of  "  The  World,"  which,  how- 
ever, made  $75,000  for  him.  Messrs.  Brooks  & 
Dickson  bought  "  Romany  Rye,"  an  untried  play, 
from  Sims,  for  America,  paying  him  $10,000  cash; 
Colville  paid  a  high  price  for  "Taken  from  Life," 
and  D'Oyley  Carte  planks  down  $12,000  to  Mr.  Sims 
for  a  drama,  before  a  line  of  it  is  written,  and  sells  the 
American  right  to  Lester  WalliKjk  on  the  same  terms. 

All  the  American  actors,  actresses  and  manasfers 
nowadaj^s  want  foreign  plays  and  are  willing  to 
pay  exorbitant  prices  for  everything  that  is  offered. 
On  the  other  hand  it  is  the  exception  when  an  Ameri- 
can playwright  does  well,  or  indeed  when  his  work  is  ac- 
cepted at  all.  Some  few  late  successes  this  side  of 
the  water  have  set  all  the  ambitious  young  men  of  play- 
writing  proclivities  to  work.  One  day  it  will  be  an- 
nounced that  John  McCullough  has  bought  a  tragedy 
from  a  rising  journalist,  and  next  day  all  the  journal- 
ists will  be  writing  plays  for  him.  So,  too,  with  Ray- 
mond, and  Mary  Anderson,  and  a  score  of  others. 
But,  few  writers  among  journalists  succeed  in  dramatic 
work.  Robert  G.  Morris,  of  the  New  York  Telegram, 
is  among  the  latest  successes  with  his  "  Old  Shipmates," 
and  probably  one  of  the  greatest  is  Bartley  Campbell, 
who  sprang  into  fame  in  a  night,  after  plodding 
patiently  and  poorly  paid  for  years.  Fred.  Marsden, 
who  writes  Lotta's  plays,  is  also  among  the  fortuuatd^ 
having,  according  to  report,  during  his  career  made 
something  like  $70,000. 

Bartley  Campbell  may  be  taken  as  an  excellent  ex- 


270  PLAYS    AND    PLAYWRIGHTS. 

jimplc  of  the  nianiK'r  in  whicli  the  American  dramatist 
works,  and  the  almost  dcspairinp;  circumstances  attend- 
ing his  long  and  weary  chase  of  fortune.  He  is  a  man 
with  a  history.  That  history  he  made  himself.  From 
an  office  boy  he  has  risen  to  a  place  of  honor.  Not 
that  the  position  of  office  boy  is  dishonorable,  but  very 
few  who  begin  life  in  that  sphere  ever  attain  as  high  a 
place  as  that  now  enjoyed  by  the  greatest  of  our 
American  dramatists.  He  was  born  at  Pittsburg, 
Pennsylvania,  some  thirty-seven  years  ago,  and  as 
soon  as  he  graduated  from  the  lap  of  infancy  he  en- 
tered a  lawyer's  office  with  the  view  of  studying  for 
the  bar.  But  the  reading  of  hiw  he  soon  discovered 
was  not  at  all  to  his  liking,  and  he  was  declared  an  un- 
promising student,  being  too  poetic  and  sentimental. 
His  next  move  was  to  the  office  of  the  Pittsburs 
Leader,  where  he  himself  says  he  received  the  munifi- 
cent salary  of  $5  a  week  for  the  hardest  work  he  has 
ever  done.  Here  is  another  illustration  of  the  old 
saying,  that  when  you  have  failed  at  everything  else 
make  up  your  mind  to  adopt  the  profession  of  actor  or 
journalist.  Young  Campbell  chose  the  latter.  He 
preferred  the  stationary  drudgery  of  a  newspaper  Bo- 
hemian's existence  to  the  wandering  chance-life  of  the 
equally  hard  worked,  and,  at  that  tinie,  poorly  paid 
actor,  liy  diligence  and  close  api)lication  to  study  he 
rose  rapidl}',  and  soon  was  entrusted  with  the  responsi- 
ble i)osition  of  dramatic  critic.  He  must  have  been  a 
good  one.  It  is  said  that  he  was  a  faithful  critic  ;  so 
faithful,  indeed,  as  to  warrant  the  chastisement  of  a 
bad  actor,  and  endanger  the  publication  of  flic  i)apcr 
with  libel  suits.  He  deserted  the  Leader  and  com- 
menced })ublishing  the  Mail,  and  it  is  hci-c,  while  edit- 
ing this  journal,  that  he  first  attempted  play-writing. 
His    early  effort    was    the    sensational    drama    called 


PLAYS    AND    PLAYWRIGHTS.  271 

"  Throuirh  the  Fire,"  broiiuht  out  in  1871 ;  then  fol- 
lowed  the  comedy,  "Peril,"  produced  in  1872;  the 
third  WHS,  "Fate,"  which  was  subsequently  purchased 
by  Miss  Carlotta  Leclerq,  who  played  it  with  much 
success  for  several  years;  then  followed,  "Risks," 
now  the  property  of  John  T.  Raymond,  and,  in  swift 
succession,  the  mill  ground  out  "The  Virginian," 
"  On  the  Rhine,"  "  Gran  Uale,"  "  The  Big  Bonanza," 
which,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  one  of  the  successes 
of  1875.  "A  Heroine  in  Rags,"  "How  Women 
Love"  (later  known  as  "The  Heart  of  the  Sierras," 
and  still  later  as  "  The  Vigilantes  "),  "Clio,"  "  Fair- 
fax," "  My  Partner,"  and  lastly,  "  The  Galley  Slave." 
It  was  the  success  of  "My  Partner"  that  brought 
about  the  turning-point  in  Mr.  Campbell's  fortune. 
That  he  had  suflfered  the  severitv  of  want,  he 
confesses  liimself  in  a  neat  little  Christmas  story  told 
by  him  to  a  newspaper  correspondent,  who  met  him  at 
the  door  of  Haverly's  Theatre,  New  York,  one  night 
during  the  run  of  "  The  Galley  Slave  "  in  the  metropo- 
lis. His  tall  figure,  his  slouch  hat,  rather  dishevelled 
hair,  twelve-cornered  moustache,  Prince  Albert  coat 
and  disordered  necktie  looked  just  as  they  did  when  I 
first  saw  their  owner  some  years  ago,  yvhen  his  luck 
was  away  down.  The  statement  of  the  night's  re- 
ceipts was  brought  him  while  we  stood  there,  and  his 
share  was  a  few  dollars  more  than  six  hundred. 

"House  not  as  good  as  last  night,"  he  said,  "  within 
a  couple  of  dollars.  Fact  is,  the  business,  although 
good,  has  not  been  better  than  it  mio;ht  be." 

"  Why,  Bartley,  you  don't  quarrel  about  a  couple 
of  dollars,  now  you  are  in  the  height  of  success? 
What  is  your  income  from  plays,  anyway?  " 

"  I  don't  growl  about  a  few  dollars  ;  but  now  is  the 
time  —  see  ?     When  you  can  growl  about  them  do  it. 


272  PLAYS    AND    PLATl-AVHIGHTS. 

Well,  Iin  gt'ttinu:  on  an  average  $1,500  a  week  now." 

"  You'll  soon  he  rich,  Bartley." 

"  Well,  I  am  so  accustomed  to  had  luck,  perhaps  I 
may  meet  some  —  sec?  " 

Bartley  CamphcU  always  says  "bcc"  in  an  inter- 
rogative way  without  much  or  any  desire  for  an  an- 
swer. In  a  ramhling  conversation  ahout  his  varied 
career  that  followed,  the  drift  of  the  talk  got  Christ- 
mas and  poverty  mixed,  and  Bartley  told  this  story  of 
his  early  struggles  :  "I  had  just  gone  to  New  Orleans 
with  my  wife,  arriving  there  just  when  a  newspaper 
had  susi)ended,  and  twelve  w'riters  were,  like  myself, 
seeking  journalistic  work  —  only,  unlike  myself,  they 
had  acquaintances  and  friends  ;  I  neither  ;  nor  money, 
except  live  cents — see?  The  row  was  a  hard  one. 
After  various  '  shifts  '  —  one  of  which  was  starting  the 
/Southern  ^[agazine,  which  was  hrought  out  —  wo 
found  ourselves,  just  before  Christmas  time,  with 
nothing  of  importance  except  a  grocery  hill  —  see?  I 
wrote  a  poem  about  Eddystone  Light,  and  sent  it  to 
the  NinetefnlJt  Cenlunj,  then  ])ublished  in  Charleston, 
S.  C,  by  Felix  de  Fontaine  &  Co.  It  was  the  small 
beginning  of  which  the  present  Nineteenth  Century  is 
the  great  result  —  see  ?  ' ' 

"Well,  I  marked  on  the  MS.  —  jn-ice  $15.  Com- 
mercial poetry —  see?  We  confidently  expected  that 
money  before  Christmas.  Why,  Ave  took  it  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course  that  the  money  must  come.  Jf  it 
didn't  —  well,  tiiat  was  a  view  of  things  that  wo 
couldn't  take  for  a  moment  —  see?  Well,  the  day 
before  Christmas  came,  but  that  money  did  not.  I 
visited  the  post-office  again  and  again  that  day,  but  no 
letter.  The  situation  was  gloomy  tiien,  and  in  the 
evening  I  said  to  my  wife,  '  I  guess  I'll  have  to  go  to 
the    grocery,   anyway.'      '  I   wouldn't  go,    Bart,'    she 


PLAYS   AND   PLAYWRIGHTS.  273 

said  ;  '  I  am  afraid  he'll  say  something  about  the  ac- 
count.' 'I  can't  help  it  —  I  am  going,  anyhow,'  I 
answered,  and  grabbed  the  basket  and  rushed  out, 
for  fear  that  my  wife's  fears  would  deter  me  from 
going  at  all —  see?  He  didn't  say  anything  about  the 
account,  and  I  ordered  sparingly.  When  he  got  the 
things  all  in  the  basket,  he  slipped  in  with  them  a 
bottle  of  nice  liquor,  and  he  said:  "  Now,  Mr.  Camp- 
bell, this  is  Christmas  Eve.'  I  went  home,  and  I 
drank  some  of  the  liquor,  and  when  we  w^ent  to  bed 
things  looked  a  little  brighter.  I  got  up  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  they  were  gloomy  again  —  see?  I  started 
down  to  the  post-office,  my  wife  saying  it  was  a  fruit- 
less errand,  and  got  there  just  before  the  Christmas 
rule  of  closing  at  10  a.  m.  shut  down  the  delivery 
window.  The  clerk  ran  through  every  letter,  and 
when  he  had  got  to  the  last  one,  and  as  I  half  turned 
to  leave,  he  threw  me  down  a  letter  which  bore  the 
date  mark  '  Charleston.'  I  opened  it,  and  there  was 
a  check  for  $15.  My  legs  couldn't  carry  me  home 
fast  enough.  I  got  there,  and  my  wife  met  me,  her 
face  all  aglow.  'Well,  Bart,'  she  said.  'Well,'  I 
said,  and  I  felt  that  she  had  heard  the  news  —  that 
some  one  had  told  her  my  check  had  come,  for  to  me 
it  was  the  biggest  piece  of  news  ever  was,  and  that  it 
was  common  talk  was  perfectly  natural.  '  Bartley,  I 
have  got  flO,'  she  cried.  'And  I  have  got  $15,'  I 
yelled  ;  and  she,  not  noticing  it,  went  on,  'I  sold  the 
war  book  about  women,  that  nobody  Avould  buy  be- 
fore, to  some  people  who  wanted  it.  Now,  don't  be 
extravagant,  Bartley,  please.  We  had  a  bottle  of 
champagne  that  day,  and  presently  I  got  the  position 
of  official  reporter  of  the  Legislature  at  $16  a  week;  but 
Christmas  time  never  comes  that  I  do  not  wonder  if  I 

18 


274  I'LAVS    AM)    rLAVW!;l(;ilTS. 

■vs'ill  have  as  merry  and  h:ippy  ;i  d:iy  as  the  one  we 
celebrated  in  New  Orleans  just  after  the  war." 

In  view  of  what  has  been  said  about  the  abnost  mer- 
ciless treatment  the  American  dramatist,  as  a  general 
rule,  receives  from  the  American  theatrical  manager, 
it  may  be  well  to  add  here  the  statement  made  lately 
by  Mr.  William  Seymour,  stage  manager  of  the  Madi- 
son Square  Theatre,   New  York.     He  exhil)ited  to  a 
visitor  a  drawerful  of  manuscripts,  and  said,  although 
he  had  read  and  rejected  one   hundred  and  fifty  plays 
within  nine  months,  he  still  had  almost  as  many  more 
left.     As  a  usual    thing    the    plays    offered   Avere,  he 
claimed,  weak  imitations  of"  Hazel  Kirke  "   and   kin- 
dred plays,  or  wretched  translations  from  the  German 
or  French.     One  or  two  were  very  original  attempts. 
Picking  up  a  heavy  manuscript  bound  with  blue  ril)- 
bon,  and  looking  very  like  a  young  girl's  graduating 
essay  or  poem,  Mr.  Seymour  said  :  Here  is  a  play  in 
seven  acts,  which  opens  in  America  at  some  large  sea- 
port town,  the  author  isn't  particular   where,  and    an 
embarkation  scene   ends  the  first  act.     In  the  second 
the  ship  has  made  its  Avay  in  toward  the  Arctic  regions 
and  is  wrecked  l)y  an  iceberg.     The  hero  bravely  cuts 
down  a  spar,  lashes  himself  to  it  and  jumps  overboard. 
In    the    third    act    he    is    discovered    ni)()n    an    ice- 
berg beyond    the   Arctic  circle,  starving  and    almost 
dead,  while  in  the  distance  a  battle  is  in   progress  be- 
tween a  pirate    ship  and  Chinese  junk.     The  China- 
men   are   destroyed,  and  in    the    fourth    act  the  hero 
is    rescued    from  the    icel)erg.     A    marine    encounter 
between  Chinamen  and   pirates  in  the  Arctic  Ocean  is 
l)ad  enf)Ugh,  but  even  this   is  outdone  in  tlM-  liftli  act, 
where  the   hero   is   discovered    upon  a  ti'opical  island 
with   his  feet  frostl)itt('n.     The  rcinainiiig  two  acts  are 
Used  to  get  him   bade  to  America,  whirli  is  (jniic  in  full 


PLAYS    AND    PLAYWRIGHTS.  275 

accordance  with  the  rest  of  the  play.  I  have  many 
others  just  as  bad.  Here  is  one  with  fifty-two  speak- 
ing characters,  and  here  is  anotheV  in  four  acts,  which 
would  require  but  twenty-nine  minutes  to  play  the 
whole  thino^  throuo-h.  But  strange  and  curious  as  the 
j)lays  are,  I  think  that  the  letters  I  receive  from  the 
authors  are  still  greater  curiosities.  Occasionally 
some  of  them  are  modest  enough  to  admit  the  possi- 
bility of  failure,  but  as  a  general  thing  they  do  not 
hesitate  to  dwell  upon  the  beauties  of  their  productions 
and  the  certainties  of  success.  Moreover,  they  are  al- 
ways ready  to  make  terms  and  some  of  their  offers 
are  very  amusing.  Here  is  one  that  will  serve  as  a 
sample :  — 

"Dear  Sir:  The  undersio-ned  is  the  Author  of  a 
new  three  act  Drama  it  is  romantic,  Dramatic  and 
Scenic,  and  has  a  good  plot.  The  Story  is  interesting. 
The  dialogue  is  bright  and  Witty,  the  unities  of  the  plot 
are  preserved,  and  the  Situations  Are  Picturesque  and 
effective.     I  have  had  it  nicely  copied. 

"And  wish  to  sell  it  to  you  if  you  wish  to  become 
the  Proprietor  of  my  play. 

"  Terms,  I  will  sell  you  My  copyright  and  Manu- 
script, And  Give  you  100  Printed  copies,  for  the  use 
of  actors,  for  $1000  dols. 

"  The  name  of  My  Play  is 

"  Charles  Ryan. 

"  The  scenes  are  in  Italy,  Time  1868. 

"  Yours,  Very  Respectfully,  etc.,  etc.,  etc., 


"Author. 

"P.  S. — I  inclose  my  card,  I  don't  be  at  Home 
•every  day,  but  am  at  home  nearly  every  evening  bet. 
8  and  10  o'clock. 

"  (I  did  not  have  my  Play  Printed  yet.)  " 


CIIAPTEK    XIX. 


"mashers"  and  "mashing. 


The  maslier  is  a  remarka])lc  creature.  Ho  hovers 
everywhere,  from  the  inarkot-phioe  to  tlic  meeting- 
house and  from  the  iiromenade  to  the  theatre.  Ho  is 
many-phased  and  many-faced,  and  nlay  come  from  the 
slums  or  be  the  son  of  a  first-class  preacher  of  tiic  Gos- 
pel.    The  class  has  been  termed  gunaikophagists  by 

some  follow  reck- 
less alike  of  the 
feelings  of  i)hilo- 
loixists  and  of  the 
jaws  of  the  rising 
generation,  who 
says  it  means  wo- 
man-caters, but 
may  be  less  poly- 
syllabically  styled 
corner  loafers  and 
miseral)lc  scoun- 
drels, who  live  on 
the  curbs  and  in 
some  instances 
hug  the  wall  —  have  a  pardonable  affection,  con- 
sidering that  they  part  their  hair  in  tli<^  mid- 
dle, for  malacca,  ])amboo,  and  rubber  sticks  — 
and  last,  but  not  least,  some  indulge  a  pre- 
cocious vanity  by  planting  eye-glasses  across  their 
noses.  These  are,  par  excellence,  the  cane-and-eye- 
(27G)  ♦ 


a  bowery  '*  masher. 


MASIIEES  AND  MASKING.  277 

glass  friends,  arid  they  remind  one  of  nothing  else  in 
the  world  than  a  sickly  looking  cross  between  a 
saw-buck  and  a  half-resuscitated  dried  herring.  The 
masher's  solo  ambition,  is  to  win  hearts,  which  he  hopes 
to  do  by  staring  ladies  out  of  countenance,  and  which 
he  often  does  in  a  most  flagrant  and  audacious  manner. 
There  are  young  and  old  of  this  class,  and  they  are  of 
all  grades,  from  the  young  man  who  negotiates  with 
you  over  a  counter  for  a  paper  of  pins  or  a  dozen  shoe- 
strings, up  to  his  employer,  and  fi'om  that  up  the 
monetary  scale  to  the  man  who  wholesales  the  em- 
ployer tiic  pins  which  the  "mashing"  salesman  dis- 
poses of  a  nickle's  worth  at  a  time.  Sandwiched 
between  these  at  proper,  or  rather  improper,  intervals 
are  the  "What  d'ye  soy?"  crowd,  the  "toughs" 
wearing  high  felt  hats  turned  up  with  care  before  and 
behind,  and,  without  exception,  sporting  the  inevitable 
tight  jeans  breeches.  Their  influence  extends  only  to 
a  certain  class  —  to  the  concert  and  variety  dives  —  and 
it  is  unfortunate  to  the  poor  girls,  outside  of  this  class, 
who  fall  a  prey  to  these  ruthless  "  mashers." 

The  theatre  appears  to  possess  loadstone  qualities 
for  the  masher  ;  it  is  as  attractive  to  them  as  the  flame 
of  the  candle  is  for  the  moth  or  the  flower  for  the  bee. 
I  have  already  in  a  preceding  chapter  said  a  great  deal 
about  the  "  mashing  "  that  is  done  in  the  audience  by 
both  male  and  female  exponents  of  the  disreputable 
art.  I  shall  now  confine  myself  to  the  "  mashers  "  in 
the  profession  and  those  who  try  to  "  mash  "  the  pro- 
fession. Some  young  gentlemen  with  more  money 
than  brains  imaofine  that  actresses  have  nothino:  else 
to  do  but  receive  attentions  from  the  opposite  sex,  and 
that  there  is  no  "  wall  of  China  "  around  the  virtue  of 
any  woman  on  the  stage.  They  therefore  not  only  make 
bold  to  talk  freely  about  actresses,   but  are  valiant 


278  MASHERS    AND    MASIIINO. 

enough  to  try  to  ensnare  them  by  letters  abounding  in 


LADY    MACIJKTH. 


Lahv  Maciiktii:  — "Inllnii  of  piiriioHcl 
Give  me  the  <lafr>fcrH;  the  plccpinjr,  find  llir  <lcaa 
Aro  but  as  iiirtiin-s:  'lis  llic  cy«!  of  cliildliooil 
That  Jcara  aimiuictl  <Icvil." 

Macbeth,  Art  J  I.,  Scene  2. 

hyperbole  and  odorcscent  of  cologne-besprent  idiocy. 


MASHERS    AND   MASHING.  279 

The  variety  actress  is  the  ideal  prize  of  this  class,  and 
they  are  in  their  greatest  glory  when  within  the  frolic- 
some precincts  of  the  wine-room.  I  have  seen  many  a 
young  man  whose  hair  was  parted  in  the  middle  crow 
lustily  over  the  successful  capture  of  a  ballet  girl,  when 
he  himself  had  been  the  capture.  These  girls  know 
what  their  charms  are  worth  and  hold  them  at  that 
price,  when  they  see  a  victim  well  dressed  and  with 
an  apparently  healthy  pocket-book.  They,  in  expres- 
sive but  slangy  language^ lay  for  him.  They  are  not 
foolish  enough  to  invite  him  to  their  side  ;  they  allow 
him  to  make  an  apparent  conquest  which  guarantees 
them  all  the  greater  gain.  The  young  gentleman  of 
whom  I  speak  was  lured  in  this  way ;  and  as  she  sat 
with  well-rounded  limbs  pulsating  through  silken  tights 
and  gracefully  thrown  upon  an  opposite  chair,  and  he 
leant  over  her  whispering  soft  words  and  looking 
fondly  upon  her  painted  face,  while  they  clinked  cham- 
pagne glasses,  she  with  downcast  eyes  was  playing 
innocence,  but  all  the  while  congratulating  herself  upon 
the  arch  manner  in  which  she  had  won  him. 

Just  as  bad  as  the  female  "  masher  "  on  the  stage 
is  the  female  "  masher  "  who  has  no  claims  on  the 
profession.  The  latter  has  studied  her  art  perfectly, 
that  it  may  assist  her  in  throwing  her  net  about  the 
unsophisticated.  Females  of  this  class  in  the  East 
make  it  their  business  to  frequent  the  matiness,  where 
witt  the  assistance  of  the  ushers,  whom  they  remu- 
nerate handsomely  for  their  co-operation,  they  gather  a 
cfrano-er  in,  and  within  twelve  hours  or  so  send  him 
bome  whining  at  his  idiocy  in  not  having  resisted  the 
temptation  that  left  him  penniless.  The  gay  sirens 
who  are  in  this  business  generally  go  in  pairs.  The 
usher  locates  them  next  to  their  victim,  and  once  there 
they've  got  him  for  all  the  cash  he  took  out  of  the 


MASHERS    AND   MASHING.  ^Sl 

family  sock  before  leaving  Jerusha  and  liis  eight  little 
ones. 

The  blonde  beauties  of  the  leg  drama,  or  the  fair 
burlesquers,  as  some  people  call  them,  are  considered 
legitimate  prey  by  the  "  mashing  ' '  fraternity.  Indeed 
it  is  often  a  case  of  diamond  cut  diamond,  for  the  bur- 
lesquers are  themselves  notoriously  liberal  in  making 
acquaintances,  and  the  majority  of  them  will  accept  a 
midnight  drive  or  a  morning  supper  as  readily  as  they 
do  the  friendship  of  the  gentleman  who  tenders  them. 
The  bewildering  array  of  limbs  and  shapely  forms,  the 
golden  hair  and  apparently  fresh  and  handsome  faces 
set  the  young  swells  wild,  and  the  rnsh  for  orchestra 
chairs  down  front  where  a  quiet  flirtation  can  be  car- 
ried on  shows  the  great  extent  of  rivalry  that  exists 
among  their  number.  Any  number  of  scented  notes 
on  rose-tinted  paper  find  their  way  through  the  stage- 
door  into  the  hands  of  the  giddy  throng  behind  the 
scenes,  and  as  they  glance  through  it  they  laugh  at 
the  foolishness  of  the  writer  but  agree  to  "  work  him  " 
to  the  full  extent  of  his  wealth.  The  comedian  who 
knows  that  the  girls  have  got  *'  another  sucker  on  a 
string"  comes  up  and  wants  to  see  the  last  "  letter 
from  home."  He  gives  the  girls  a  funny  bit  of  advice 
about  retaining  their  innocence  if  they  would  be  happy, 
but  adds  that  if  there  is  anvthing  in  the  fellow,  to 
"  catch  on  "  at  once —  which  of  course  the  girls  have 
already  made  up  their  minds  to  do. 

A  veteran  in  the  business  says  :  "Actresses  have  the 
most  marked  talents  for  wheedling  the  gilded  youth 
out  of  money.  Such  '  guys  '  and  '  gillies  '  fancy  that 
if  they  are  known  as  the  patrons  and  friends  of  stage 
stars  all  the  world  is  staring  at  them  and  envying 
their  conquests.  Poor  idiots,  their  entire  conquest 
consists  in  that  they  make  over  their  own  common 


282 


MASriKRS    AND    MASHING. 


lUOM    ONE    OF    THE    "MASHED." 

sense  I  'Jlio  .silly  ninny  rcjoicinjj:  in  the  .sliowy  and  jirt- 
ful  woman's  f:ivors  counts  hini.self  a  privileged  mortal, 
hut  his  chief  ])rivilcge  in   regard  to   a  cunning,  sehcm- 


MASHERS    AND    MASHING.  283 

ing  stage  siren  is  the  privilege  of  pcayiug  her  bills.  Of 
the  men  with  money  she  makes  fools.  When  she 
scents  a  full  pocket-book  she  runs  it  low.  Her  affec- 
tion, so  far  as  she  has  any  to  bestow,  is  probably  lav- 
ished on  a  big  animal  of  a  loafer  from  whom  she  gets 
no  money,  and  who,  perhaps,  beats  her  and  makes  her 
support  hira.  It  is  a  paradox  of  feminine  nature  that 
the  women  who  are  unscrupulous  and  heartless  in 
wheedling  men  of  money  seem  so  lavishly  free  in  be- 
stowing favors  and  bounty  on  loaferish  lovers,  from 
whom  they  can  make  nothing.  An  actress  is  psychi- 
cally a  study,  always  curious  and  unaccountable,  how- 
ever talented.' 

Some  comic  opera  choruses,  particularly  those  of  the 
limb-exhibiting  kind,  have  attained  to  almost  equal 
notoriety  with  the  burlesquers  in  the  *'  mashing"  line. 
The  fact  of  the  matter  is  that  in  the  branches  of  the 
profession  where  women  are  employed,  not  for  their 
artistic  qualities,  but  on  account  of  the  plumpness  of 
their  limbs  and  the  a<2:reeableness  of  their  entire  figure 
to  the  male  eye,  there  is  so  much  laxness  and  so  much 
that  is  altogether  bad,  that  the  ladies  of  the  hio:her 
walks  of  the  profession  do  not  always  escape,  and  the 
"  masher,"  who  is  alwavs  ffoiiig  around  seekinsr  what 
fair  females  he  may  devour,  frequently  dares  to  ap- 
proach some  of  the  best  women  in  the  profession.  Here 
is  a  specimen  of  the  work  of  one  of  this  class  ;  it  is  a 
letter  received  by  one  of  the  best  and  handsomest  little 
ladies  the  stage  ever  saw,  and  whose  retirement  from  the 
boards  was  really  a  great  loss  to  the  dramatic  art :  — 


Exchange  Hotel, 
Montgomery,  Ala. 


,  187-. I 


I  know  I  am  violating  the  cold  conventionalities  of 
life  by  addressing  you,  but  if  it  angers  you,  the  friendly 
fire  which  blazes  before  you  will  prove  a  suitable  altar 


284  Mashers  and  masiiixg. 

upon  wliich  you  c:iii  sacrifice  my  homage.  I  never  saw 
you  before  to-niirlit,  but  to  see  von  is  to  be  dazed  — 
glamoured  with  a  glare.  May  I  dare  to  hope  that  I 
shall  ever  stand  abashed  in  your  presence,  waiting  vour 
sweet  will  to  raise  my  eyes  to  your  dear  face  in  adora- 
tion ?  Tell  me  that  I  may  follow  you  through  all  the 
world  upon  my  bended  knees,  to  find  at  last  your 
favor,  that  I  may  live  in  hope  upon  the  memory  of 
your  smile,  and  know  that  at  the  last  von  will  be  con- 
tent  to  let  me  kneel  at  your  feet  and  tind  reward  in 
that  alone.  Oh,  dear  heart,  let  me  dream  of  you  until 
you  awaken.  Yours,  devoted, 

y.  II.  M. 

Can  anyljody  imagine  a  more  glowing  and  positive 
piece  of  idiocy?  This  would-be  "  masher"  should  Ix; 
taken  out  in  the  woods  and  brained  with  a  five-svllable 
adjective  that  he  would  not  be  able  to  identify  in  the 
next  world.  Many  actresses  refuse  to  receive  letters 
that  are  sent  to  them  from  stranixc  admirers.  Marv 
Anderson  never  sees  such  a  letter,  although  bushels  of 
them  are  sent  to  her.  And  she  is  only  one  of  hun- 
dreds who  adopt  the  i)olicy  of  rejecting  strange  letters 
at  sight.  Frequently  nuirried  ladies  in  the  profession 
are  made  targets  of  by  the  letter-writing  l»rigado  of 
mashers,  and  more  than  one  hea<l  has  been  aiiisti- 
cally  mutilated  as  a  retui-n  for  the  "  masher's  "  imper- 
tinent pains. 

A  New  York  corrcspendcnt  writes  as  follows  about 
a  pretty  little  actress  and  singer,  who  while  fullillinf 
an  engagement  at  the  Bijou  Opera  House,  New  York, 
last  summer,  broke  the  hearts  of  nil  the  "swells" 
and  "  bloods"  of  the  metropolis,  .iixl  li.id  the  house 
filled  nightly  with  rival  admirers,  among  whom  was 
the  melancholy  son  of  a  Washington,  1).  O.,  judge  : 
"Miss  Lillian  Russell   is  a  beauty  without  a  shadow 


(T 

o 


MASHERS    AND    MASHING.  285 

of  doubt.  She  is  about  tweuty-six,  I  believe.  It  is 
by  no  mecans  generally  known  that  she  is  marrier],  and 
that  her  husband  is  an  honest,  hard-working,  and  thor- 
ough orchestra  leader,  to  whom  she  owes  her  present 
proficiency  in  vocal  culture.  He  was  very  fond  of  her, 
and  alwaj^s  believed  in  her  success.  No  man  could 
have  Avorked  more  faithfully.  Finally  he  found  an 
opening  for  her  on  the  variety  stage  as  a  serio-comic  — 
as  the  phrase  goes  —  singer.  She  attracted  attention 
at  once,  and  he  labored  vigilantly  until  he  found  a 
legitimate  opening  in  English  comic  opera.  I  believe 
it  was  'The  Snake  Charmer.'  She  was  very  glad  to 
get  out  of  the  variety  rut  so  soon,  and  expressed  de- 
lio-ht  at  the  admiration  she  excited.  Then  came  the 
club-men  with  their  swell  slang,  gaudy  carts  and  flow- 
ing money.  Now  she  is  suing  her  husband  for  divorce. 
Such  is  life.  The  husband,  I  hear,  harassed  by  care, 
and  perhaps  something  else,  had  become  so  nervous 
or  inattentive  that  he  lost  his  position  in  the  orchestra, 
and  so  the  shades  of  prosperity  and  adversity  arc  more 
clearly  defined  than  ever.  Miss  Russell  seems  to  have 
been  under  the  especial  care  of  a  theatrical  goddess  of 
sensationalism.  Everj^thing  has  conspired  to  make 
her  name  familiar.  Her  escapade  with  one  of  the 
young  men  was  inevitable.  The  only  question  was 
which  one  she  would  select.  It  happened  to  be 
Howard  Osborne,  the  son  of  the  wealthy  banker. 
One  night  when  it  was  time  for  the  curtain  to  rise,  and 
the  audience  was  o-ettino-  into  a  Avhite  heat,  the  manag-er 
came  forward  displaying  a  decided  desire  to  swear 
like  a  pirate,  and  announced  that  Miss  Russell  had 
suddenly  and  unwarrantedly  run  away.  The  next 
morning  Mr.  Osborne,  Sr.,  wondered  where  in  thun- 
der his  son  was.  He  received  a  letter  later,  and 
immediatelv  fell  into  a  howling  rage.     Shortly  after- 


286  MASHERS    AND    MASHING. 

wards  Mr.  Howard  Osborne  was  hoard  of  in  Cliican-o, 
whence  it  was  blandly  stated  Miss  R.  had  gone  to  visit 
an  aunt.  The  young  man  was  sent  spinning  over  the 
sea  to  Europe,  and  the  steamer  had  just  arrived  when 
his  fond  parent  had  the  exquisite  pleasure  of  rcadino- 
at  breakfast  a  cable  in  the  morning  papers  relatiu"-  a 
little  excursion  of  a  certain  Mr.  Howard  Osborne,  Esq., 
said  to  be  of  New  York,  with  Miss  Alice  Burvillc,  the 
burlesque  actress,  at  the  Ascot  races.  Hcigho ! 
'  Which  the  ways  of  the  world  is  peculiar,  Mrs.  'Arris, 
sezl.'" 

A  Californian,  who  reached  the  Pacific  slope  in  '49 
as  a  peddler,  but  is  now  a  bachelor  millionaire,  has 
been  sued  for  breach  of  promise  by  the  walking  lady 
of  a  San  Francisco  theatre,  who  seems  to  have  elfec- 
tually  succeeded  in  "mashing"    the  old  man.     Tlio 
defendant  it  is  said  first  saw  the  plaintiff  at  a  perform- 
ance   at    the    theatre    where  she  was    euL^aircd.     lie 
became  impressed  with  her  charms  and  sought  an  in- 
troduction.    He  gained  it  and   became  an  assiduous 
attendant    upon      her.      Their    intimacy,     the    lady 
alleges,    ended   in    a  promise  of  marriage,  and    she 
claims  to  possess  letters  in  which  she  is  addressed  by 
those  endearing  epithets  good  husbands  apply  to  the 
spouses  they  love.     However  that  may  be,  the  defend- 
ant  showered    bounties  on  her,    both   in  jewels    and 
money,  for  upwards  of  a  year.     Then  business  called 
him  to  his  mines  in  Amador  County.     Ho  was  to  be 
away  some  weeks,  but  returned  sooner  than   he  had 
anticipated.     He  drove  directly  to  the  theatre  where 
the  plaintiff  was  performing  at  the  time  of  his  arrival 
in  San  Francisco,  and  got  there  just  in  time  to  see 
her    walk    away    with    another    man.       That    other 
man,   moreover,  was    an    actor    with    whom    rumor 
had    associated    her    name    more    than    once,  thou<rh 


MASHERS   AND   MASHING. 


287 


she  had  succeeding  in  arguing  suspicion  in  the 
matter  away  from  the  mind  of  her  senile  lover. 
This  time,  however,  argument  failed  to  do  the  work 
required  of  it.  Detectives  employed  by  the  defendant 
resulted  in  the  discovery  that  his  gifts  and  favors  had 
only  served  to  benefit  a  younger  and  more  fascinating 
man,  and  he  literally  as  well  as  metaphorically  shook 
the  dust  of  his  false  one's  door-mat  off  his  feet  forever. 
Then  followed  the  suit,  which  he.  calls  blackmail,  and 
she,  a  demand  for  justice. 


ADELINA   PATTI'S    "MASH. 


Adelina  Patti  is  credited  with  a  strange  fascination, 
while  in  New  York,  the  diva  havins;  succumbed  to  the 
blandishments  of  a  midget.  The  story  is  that  she  saw 
a  picture  of  the  midget  Dudley  Foster  on  exhibition 
at  Bunnell's  museum,  and  driving  down  Broadway, 
stopped  at  Bunnell's  establishment  and  asked  George 
Starr,  the  wily  awd  polite  manager,  for  the  loan  of  the 
diminutive  specimen  of  humanity.  Starr  agreed  and 
the  midget  was   handed  into  her  carriage.     "  Here  is  a 


288  MASHERS   AND    MASHING. 

pretty  toy,"  gushed  the  pritna  donna,  covering  the 
little  creature  with  kisses.  She  took  him  to  her  hotel 
and  passed  an  entire  afternoon  singing  to  him  and 
chattinix.  How  Kicolini  took  to  the  new  crank  of  his 
sinking  bird  is  not  stated.    Mr.  Foster  plumes  himself 


J.  H.   HAVEIILY. 

consideral)Iy  on  the  fact  that  he  has  done  what  princes 
have  tried  in  vain  —  cutout  Nicolini  —  and  he  boasts, 
too,  tiiat  the  prima  donna  before  she  would  let  him  go 
made  him  promise  to  call  on  lier  the  following  week. 

Actors  have  their  ♦*  mashes"  too,  the  same  as  ac- 
tresses, and  tht  gentlemen  who  own  flexible  voices,  and 


MASHERS    AND    IMASHING.  289 

flourish  them  through  all  the  glorious  variations  of 
operatic  music,  seem  to  be  most  successful  in  captivat- 
ing the  fair  and  susceptible  sex.  "  It  is  hard  to  under- 
stand why  it  is,"  says  a  Chicago  newspaper,  "but 
somehow,  while  girls  recognize  the  powder  and  paint, 
the  blonde  wigs  and  penciled  brows  of  a  prima  donna 
as  so  nuich  make-up,  they  refuse  to  analyze  the  charms 
of  a  tenor,  and  his  grease,  paint,  luxuriant  locks,  and 
graceful  mustache  are  admired  as  his  very  own.  A 
case  in  point  was  that  of  a  young  lady  whose  father  is 
well  known  on  the  Chicago  Stock  Exchange.  She  was 
violently  smitten  with  Campanini,  and  used  to  send 
him  no  end  of  beautifully  written  missives,  and  every 
night  a  bouquet  of  red  roses.  The  letters  especially 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  tenor  because  they  were 
written  in  smoothly  flowing  Italian,  and  evidently  by 
some  one  who  was  more  romantic  than  fast  or  wild. 
There  was  little  trouble  in  finding  out  the  fair  corres- 
pondent, and  Mme.  Campanini,  who  has  a  good  and 
lovely  soul,  sent  a  note  to  the  young  lady  and  asked 
her  to  call.  It  is  needless  to  say  the  hitter's  delight- 
ful delusions  were  quickly  dispelled  before  the  domes- 
tic life  of  the  silver-toned  tenor  and  the  kindly  advice 
of  his  good  wife. 

The  extent  to  which  these  serio-comic  love  affiiirs 
are  carried  on  is  enormous,  and  sometimes  the  parties 
show  an  amusing  ingenuity  in  their  correspondence.- 
Del  Puente  once  went  nearly  wild  with  ungratified 
curiosity  through  the  pranks  of  a  mischievous  school 
girl,  who  was  perpetually  sending  him  love  letters,  in 
which  she  declared  she  never  missed  a  single  night 
when  he  sung,  and  that  when  he  left  New  York  on  his 
tour  with  Her  Majesty's  Company  she  should  follow 
him  and  be  present  at  every  performance.  Sure 
enough,  in  every  cit}'^  where  he   sang  he  received  a 

19 


2'JO  MASlIEliS    AND   MAblUNG. 

pretty  note  of  congratulation,  with  the  iisuiil  informa- 
tion that  the  Avriter  —  dressed,  as  usual,  in  blu  k  — 
^vas  present.  Of  course,  there  were  always  a  nninher 
of  young  and  })retty  women  in  this  sonihie  hue,  but 
which  Avas  his  correspondent  Del  Puentc  never  could 
decide.  The  letters  were  always  post-marked  with  tiie 
name  of  the  city  he  happened  to  be  in,  and  finally  he 
became  really  nervous  with  the  idea  of  an  unknown 
woman  following  him  in  this  shadowy  fashion.  His 
curiosity  was  not  destined  to  be  satisfied  until  long 
afterward,  when  he  found  that  the  fair  unknown,  clev- 
erly following  the  i)ublished  route,  would  send  a 
stamjicd  but  undirected  letter  to  the  postmaster  of  the 
city  he  ha[)pened  to  bo  in,  with  a  request  that  he  would 
ascertain  the  singer's  address  and  forward  it.  As  long 
as  the  letter  was  stamped  this  was  sure  to  be  done,  and 
the  tenor  never  failed  to  receive  the  missive. 

A  case  of  basso-infatuation  was  that  of  a  daughter 
of  an  ex-Senator,  still  prominent  in  "Washington  cir- 
cles, who  used  to  spend  all  her  pin-money  in  buying 
presents  and  baskets  of  flowers,  Avhich  she  sent  to 
Conley.  In  some  mysterious  way  her  father  received 
a  hint  of  it,  and  the  young  lady  was  sent  to  the 
Georijetown  convent,  where  she  was  educated  for  a 
couple  of  years  by  way  of  i)unishment.  She  probal)ly 
dill  not  know  that  Conley  was  married.  Poor  fellow, 
he  was  drowned  last  .summer. 

Castle,  though  neither  so  young  nor  so  charming  as 
ho  once  was,  still  receives  loads  of  gushing  epistles, 
which  Mrs.  Castle  demurely  twists  into  cigar  lighters  ; 
and  Pjrignoli  says,  "  I  haf  teachcd  missel f  /.e  Inglis 
language  with  these  liddle  letters." 

In  Chicago  there  resides  a  wealthy  and  charming 
young  married  lady  who  entertains  handsomely,  and  is 
well  known  in  society,  but  who  distracts  her  elderly 


MASHERS    AND    MASHING.  291 

husband  by  a  mania  for  making  the  acquaintance  of 
evciy  new  male  singer  of  note,  and  entertaining  him 
with  the  greatest  elegance  and  expense.  Of  course  a 
majority  of  these  affairs  are  entered  into  either  in  the 
spirit  of  romance  or  mischief,  but  in  either  case  it  is 
apt  to  result  disastrously,  and  the  world  has  a  cruelly 
uncomfortably  way  of  stamping  them  with  another  and 
harsher  name. 

Having  noticed  that  there  was  a  stain  on  the  lips  of 
the  portrait  of  Campanini  the  tenor,  hanging  in  the 
lobby  of  the  Academy  of  Music,  New  York,  a  visitor 
called  an  attendant's  attention  to  it  and  advised  him  to 
wipe  it  off.  "Why,  bless  you,"  said  the  attendant,  "  we 
do  so  every  day.  That's  where  the  girls  kiss  it.  That 
picture  makes  as  many  mashes  as  Campy  himself,  and 
if  he  was  kissed  half  as  often  his  lips  would  be  quite 
worn  away.  Lord  what  fools  women  are,  to  be  sure  !  " 
The  visitor  waited  long  enough  to  see  a  well-dressed 
and  handsome  young  lady  approach  and  kiss  the  pic- 
ture.    At  least  he  says  he  saw  it. 

There  is  also  a  humorous  side  to  this  "mashinof" 
business.  Men  and  boys  who  run  after  actresses  gen- 
erally get  themselves  into  trouble,  particularly  is  this 
the  case  with  old  men  —  men  old  enou2:h  to  be  think- 
ing  of  the  designs  for  their  tombstones  instead  of 
running  around  variety  theatres  hugging  girls  and  lav- 
ishing champagne  and  beer  upon  them.  An  old  sinner 
of  this  stamp  got  into  trouble  in  a  New  York  theatre 
one  day.  He  made  himself  conspicuous  and  obnoxious 
at  a  rehearsal  by  stumbling  over  the  stao:e  and  ffettino- 
in  everybody's  way.  The  supes  cursed  him  and  the 
stage  carpenter  called  down  anathemas  on  his  aged 
head,  but  the  old  fellow  was  indifferent,  for  he  was 
basking  in  the  smiles  of  a  well-known  soubrette  and 
was  happy.     Finally  he  posed  in  the  centre  of  the  sta2:e 


202 


MASHERS    AND    MASFIINO. 


jnstas  an 'Miiterior  "  was  to  be  set.  The  scene  shifters 
saw  lie  was  in  a  good  position  to  he  squeezed,  and  they 
quietly  shoved  the   scenes  together.     The  lover,  intent 


-^V   MONTtKY    SPOILINfJ    A    "MASH. 


on  his  inamorata,  discovered  his  predicament  only  when 
cauglit,  hut  the  scene  shifters  were  deaf  to  his  cries, 
and  he  was  held  a  prisoner.     He  was  only  released  on 


MASHERS   AND   MASHING.  293 

swearing  never  again  to  poke  liis  nose  inside  the  stage- 
door,  and  furnishing  enough  to  treat  the  boys.  When 
at  hist  he  was  free,  he  made  hasty  tracks  for  the  exit, 
and  was  heard  to  mutter  as  he  went  out,  he'd  be  d — d 
if  he  wanted  to  be  squeezed  again,  even  by  his  charm- 
ing soubrette. 

The  bald-headed  men,  though,  get  it  worse  than  any- 
body else,  and  particularly  so  when  their  bald  heads 
are  hidden  under  wigs.  A  monkey  had  a  part  to  play 
in  a  piece  running  at  one  of  the  metropolitan  variety 
theatres.  There  was  a  pretty  burlesque  actress  play- 
ing there  at  the  same  time  and  she  had  a  host  of  admir- 
ers with  more  money  than  brains.  Among  the  num- 
ber was  an  addle-pated  old  rascal,  who  preferred  the 
society  of  the  "  artiste  "  to  that  of  his  aged  wife,  who 
had  lost  the  charms  which  enraptured  his  fancy  when 
he  led  her  years  ago  as  a  blushing  bride  to  the  altar. 
One  evening  the  fellow  bribed  the  door-keeper  at  the 
stage  entrance  to  admit  him  to  that  realm  of  dirt,  paint, 
and  faded  tinsel  *'  behind  the  scenes,"  and  he  stationed 
himself  in  the  winirs  in  order  to  welcome  his  charmer 
when  she  retired  amid  the  plaudits  of  the  audience. 
But  alas,  the  '<  bqst  laid  plans  of  mice  and  men  gang 
aft  aglee."  The  monkey  espied  him,  and  at  once  fell 
in  love  with  the  glossy  wig  which  covered  the  bald 
head.  Swinging  itself  down  from  the  flies  the  monkey 
made  a  swoop  with  its  long  arm  and  the  masher  was 
scalped.  He  cried  lustily,  but  the  monkey  made  off 
with  its  trophy  and  the  masher  sloped  with  a  hand- 
kerchief tied  over  hi?5  head. 

« 

Almost  similar  was  the  fate  of  a  bewigged  Parisian 
who  was  loafing  and  "  mashing  "  behind  the  scenes  of 
the  Grand  Opera.  A  dancer  stood  in  the  wings  listen- 
ing to  the  prattle  of  a  silly  old  man.  He  was  protest- 
ing heartily  his  love  for  the  young  lady,  and  was  on 


294  MASHERS    AXD    MASFIING. 

tlie  ]K)int  of  kissinic  her  hand,  when,  as  lie  stooped 
down,  she  snatched  his  wMij  from  his  head.  At  tliat 
moment  she  had  to  appear  on  the  stage,  and  did  so 
amid  huighter  and  apphiiise  ;  for  she  carried  with  her 
tlic  old  fellow's  scalp  as  if  by  way  of  trophy.  The 
applause  Avas  less  loud,  hut  much  more  humorous  on 
the  stage  ;  for  the  gay  old  lover  and  his  bald  head  had 
to  stand  a  deal  of  quizzing  from  those  who,  like  him- 
self, were  in  the  wings  waiting  for  their  "  little  dears  " 
to  return. 

Since  the  establishment  of  garden  theatres  for  the 
summer  months,  in  nearly  all  the  large  cities  of  the 
Union,  the  "  masher"  finds  am[)le  field  for  the  kind  of 
sport  he  indulges  in.  A  girl  in  red  tights  created  a  great 
commotion  among  the  swell  mashers  who  frequented 
Uhrig's  Cave,  8t.  Louis,  during  the  summer  of  1881, 
and  in  that  connection  there  could  have  been  revela- 
tions that  would  carry  grief  into  a  few  homes  and  bring 
disgrace  upon  not  young  and  irresponsible  men,  but 
upon  prominent  citizens  who  were  foolish  enough  to  be 
fascinated  by  the  crimson  symmetricals.  The  frater- 
nity have  a  peculiar  way  of  working  a  summer  garden. 
The  phalanx  of  mashers  begin  operations  early  in  the 
evening.  They  get  to  the  garden  before  the  lamps  are 
lit,  and  dust  some  of  the  chairs  with  their  coat-tails  and 
pantaloons.  They  watch  the  singers  as  they  enter  and 
endeavor  to  catch  some  suggestion  from  them  that  a 
mash  has  hccn  eflccted.  Now  and  then  a  soft,  gazelle- 
like glance  or  a  sweet,  girlish  simper,  like  the  smile  on 
a  sick  monkey's  under  lip,  gives  a  token  of  slight 
recognition,  and  then  the  masher's  heart  and  eye  are 
full  of  gladness.  When  the  curtain  is  rung  \\\)  and  the 
glare  turned  on,  tlu>-  "  mashers  "  move  in  a  body 
towards  the  front  of  the  stage  and  dust  some  more  of 
the  chairs.     Then   they  fhx  their  eyes  like  so   many 


MASHERS    AND    MASHING. 


295 


lances  upon  the  girls  and  again  attempt  to  impale 
hearts.  After  the  performance  they  move  in  a  double 
line  to  the  side  arsle  of  the  garden,  and,  opening 
ranks,  wait  for  the  actresses  to  come  out.  When 
the  actresses  do  come  out  they  are 
oblio-ed  to  run  a  £::auntlet  that  would 
put  any  but  a  cast  -  iron  woman 
with  a  heavy  veil  on  to  the  reddest 
blush.  Sometimes  a  "masher" 
accomplishes  his  aim  in  life  and  cap- 
tures a  girl,  but  it  is  seldom.  The 
professional  poser  has  too  wide  a 
reputation  and  his  figure  is  as  clear 
a  "give-away"  as  the  cigar-sign 
Indian's,  so  that  a  reputable  young 
lady  who  cares  anything  about  con- 
tinuing to  be  respected  and  esteem- 
ed by  her  friends  is  obdurate  to 
the  glances,  the  moustache,  the 
smiles,  the  white  hat,  light  pant- 
aloons, bamboo  canes,  and  cheap 
button-hole  bouquets  — 


AMBLELEG. 

See  p.  296. 


The  Saturday  matinee  young  man, 

The  five-cent-cigai-  young  man, 

The  sweetly  susceptible,  somewhat  disrep'table, 

Gaze-and-admire-me  young  man. 

And  so  it  goes  on  every  night.  Music  and  "  mash- 
so  charmingly  dovetail  themselves  to  the  enter- 
tainment that  there  is  as  much  amusement  in  looking 
up  one  as  in  listening  to  the  other. 


ms: 


CHAPTER  XX. 


THE  MAIDEN  AND  THE  TENOR. 

Mr.  Troubadour  Ambleleg  was  a  tenor.     He  waved 
his  light  voice  for  a  light  salary  in  the  chorus  of  an 
unexpensive  opera  company  that  made    the  summer 
months  of  1881  and  the  opera  air  of  the  West  End  of 
St.  Louis   melodious  to  a  sometimes  quite  harassing 
degree.     His  soul  was  as  full  of  art  as  liis  throat  was 
of  music.     He  doted  upon   the   beautiful  wherever  he 
came  in  contact  with  it,  and  frequentljs  when  he  heard 
of  beauty  lying  around  in  languid  looseness  in  any 
direction,  he  went  out  of  his  way  to  find  it.     It  was  in 
this  manner  he   became  acquainted  with   Miss  Silica 
Justaytine.     She  was  the  belle   of  an  uppcrly  upper 
circle,  a  glowing,  brown-eyed  maiden,  with  sun-kissed 
hair,  and  the  sweetest  smiles  that  ever  played  in  Polar- 
light  style  over  the  ruffs  and  ruchings  of  an  expensive 
toilet.     Indeed,  an    aurora  borealis  of  fjlintiufr  cood 
nature    shone  upon    the    horizon  of  her   lips,   and   a 
single  glance  of  her  eye  was  worth  more  trf  a  man  in 
love  than  the  advent  of  a  sprinkling  cart  to  a  traveller 
perishing   of    thirst   on    a    dry    and    burning    desert. 
When  Mr.  Amidelcg  saw  Miss  Justaytine,  that  pink  of 
beauty   and   perfection    of    belleship,  gracing  a  front 
bench,  Avhcrc  the  susceptil)le  tenor  was  nightly  airing 
his  voice  at  a  salary  of  ten  dollars  a  week,  their  eyes  ' 
met  and  their  loves  at  once  intertwined.     Like  Tecetl, 
tho  daughter  of  Montcztuna,  Avho  found  in  the  yellow- 
haired  warrior,  Alvarado,  the  lover  she  had  dreamt  of 

(206) 


THE   MAIDEN   AND   THE   TENOR.  »        297 

long  before  the  prow  of  the  "fair  god's"  vessel 
touched  the  shores  of  Mexico,  the  super-aesthetical 
maiden  of  my  story  saw  in  the  chorus  singer  the 
affinity  for  which  she  had  long  looked  and  sighed. 
Mr.  Ambleleg,  too,  at  once  became  aware  that  in  Miss 
Justaytine  he  had  met  his  fate.  They  smiled,  and 
sighed,  and  ogled,  and  encouraged  each  other  across 
the  foot-1  lights.  The  chorus  sinsrer  foro;ot  all  the  other 
maiden  beauty  that  flourished  under*  the  foliage,  and 
there  were  crushed  and  trampled  hearts  lying  in  the 
chasm  across  which  Ambleleg  and  Miss  Justaytine  ex- 
chano:ed  their  affections.  But  Ambleleg  did  not  mind 
it.  He  had  learned  that  Miss  Justaytine  was  the  queen 
of  her  circle,  and  he  determined  to  share  her  crown 
with  her.  Now,  Ambleleg  was  not  wealthy  ;  neither 
was  he  rich  in  prepossessing  features.  His  teeth  were 
freckled,  his  mouth  was  big,  his  forehead  small,  his 
eyes  expressionless,  his  hair  of  a  buttery  yellow,  his 
moustache  vapid,  his  shirt  calico,  and  usually  required 
to  do  long  service  without  washing,  while  his  general 
appearance  was  not  extravagantly  pleasant,  and  cer- 
tainly not  over-abundant  in  that  grace  and  ease  for 
which  pretty  girls  have,  at  all  times,  a  fondness. 
Therefore,  it  was  surprising  that  Miss  Silica  Justaytine 
fell  in  love  with  the  chorus-singing  tenor.  But  she 
did  so,  and,  it  seems,  fell  so  deeply  into  admiration  of 
himself  and  his  voice,  that*  she  could  not  have  done 
better  had  she  made  the  start,  in  falling,  from  the  top 
of  a  seven-story  house.  When  love  is  once  kindled  in 
the  glow  of  a  pair  of  admiring  eyes,  look  out  for  a 
conflagration  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  pericardium. 
Night  after  night,  as  the  moon  washed  the  tree  tops 
with  waves  of  silver,  and  the  leaves  rustled  their  whis- 
pers to  each  other.  Miss  Silica  Justaytine  sat  in  the 
front  row,  either  joining  with  the  chorus  of  eesthetic 


298  THE   MAIDEN   AND   THE   TENOR. 

nuiidcns  in  "  Patience  "  in  singing  to  her  own  ideal 
BuntJiorne,  — 

Turn,  oh  turn  in  this  direction, 

Shed,  oh  shed  a  gentle  smile ; 
•  With  a  glance  of  sad  perfection 

My  poor  fainting  heart  beguile! 
On  such  cj'es  as  maidens  cherish 

Let  thy  fond  adorer  gaze. 
Or  incontinently  perish 

In  their  all-consuming  rays. 

Or  followino:  Bettina  throu<z;li  the  mazes  of  the 
"  Mascotte  "  gobble  song,  while  she  had  a  Pippn  of 
her  own  in  mind  all  the  time.  Ambleleg  noticed  this 
growing  allectioii,  and  sang  all  the  louder,  and  all  the 
wilder,  to  the  great  endangcrnientof  the  performances. 
At  last  Miss  Silica  Jiistaytine  left  him  a  token  of  her 
love  —  a  soft,  white  rose,  which  she  kissed  and  })laced 
in  her  chair  as  she  departed  one  evening.  Ambleleg 
cleared  the  stajje  at  a  I)()und,  secured  the  cream v 
flower,  pressed  it  to  his  li[)s  and  over  his  calico  shirt 
bosom,  after  which  he  carefully  stowed  it  away  in  a 
pocket-book  with  his  wash  and  board-bills.  The  follow- 
ing day  Miss  Silica  Justaytine  was  toying  with  a 
$10,000  necklace  in  the  bay  window  of  her  palatial  resi- 
dence on  Pinafore  Avenue,  when  the  postman  handed 
her  a  letter  in  a  yellow  envelope.  It  was  from  Amble- 
leg. She  blushed  as  she  looked  at  it,  then  opened  and 
read  it,  smiled  and  floated  gracefully  up  to  an  escritoire, 
where  she  indited  a  charming  little  note  on  pink  mono- 
gram i)aper  with  heavy  gold  edges,  and  placed  it  in  one 
of  the  nattiest  and  most  scrumptious  envelopes  you  ever 
saw.  Ambleleg  read  that  note  that  very  night  to  a 
group  of  wide-eyed  and  open-mouthed  chorus  singers. 
It  invited  him  to  call  on  Miss  .Fustaytine  the  next  day. 
The  call  was  made.  Miss  Silica  Justaytine  received 
Ambleleg  at  the  front  door,  and  led  him  to  the  magni- 
ficent parlor  as  gracif)usly  as  if  he  were  a  prince. 


THE   MAIDEN   AND   THE   TENOR.  299 

<' My  Pippor'  she  cried,  as  she  flung  her  arms 
around  his  neck,  and  almost  knocked  over  the  piano 
stool. 

♦'  My  Bettinaf  sighed  the  tenor,  as  he  pressed  her 
to  his  glowing  bosom. 

After  the  first  agony  of  meeting  they  sat  down  and 
told  the  stories  of  their  love.  Cruel  f\ite  had  dealt 
harshly  with  both.  One  w^as  already  engaged  to  be 
married  ;  the  other  would  not  begin  to  have  a  ghost 
of  a  show  at  monogamy  if  wives  were  to  be  had  at  ten 
cents  a  dozen.  Miss  Justaytine  was  betrothed  to  Mr. 
Praymore,  a  young  man  who  had  hopes  of  coming  into 
a  fortune  some  day  or  other,  providing  he  survived 
the  parent  who  accumulated  it.  Mr.  Ambleleg  was 
impecunious  ;  still  she  said  she  could  scrape  up  enough 
to  buy  him  a  suit  of  clothes  and  a  box  of  tooth-powder, 
and  then  they  might  fly  together  as  far  as  East  St. 
Louis  anyhow.  Miss  Justaytine  was  to  become  a  wan- 
derino-  minstrel's  bride.  She  took  the  $5,000  diamond 
engagement  ring  Mr.  Praymore  had  given  her,  from 
her  finger,  and  put  on  a  $2  imitation  amethyst  that 
the  chorus  singer  gave  her.  What  simple,  pure,  and 
unselfish  love. 

But  the  course  of  true  love  is  as  rough  as  the  rocky 
roads  in  Dublin.  Not  content  with  wandering  under 
his  inamorata's  window  every  night  wasting  his  breath 
in  whistling  Sullivan's  music  to  pieces,  while  Bettina 
opened  the  shutters  of  the  third-story  window  and 
softly  sang, — 

For  I  mi-hy  turkey's  love, 
to  which  Pippo  melodiously  responded,  — 

And  I  my  shee-eep  love. 

After  which  there  was  a  mixture  of  "  gobble,  gobble, 
fjobble,"  and  "  ba-a-a-ahs."  Not  content  with  this 
innocent  and  artistic  way  of  amusing  himself  while  he 


300        THE  MAIDEN  AND  THE  TENOR. 

kept  i)Ooplo  awake  for  blocks  iirouiul,  Ambleleg  very 
indiscreetly  boasted  of  his  success,  and  exhibited  Miss 
Silica  Justaytine's  notes  and  photoirraphs  to  indiscrim- 
inate crowds.  One  day  he  met  Mr.  Prayniore  and  a 
prize-lighting  brother  of  Miss  Justaytine  in  the  street. 
This  brother  had  done  yoeman's  service  in  the  24- 
foot  ring,  and  required  but  slight  provocation  to 
disturb  the  claret  in  a  nose  so  inviting  as  that  which 
decorated  the  middle  of  Mr.  Aml)leleg's  face.  By  the 
free  use  of  whiskey  punches  these  young  men  finally 
inveigled  Ambleleg  into  a  deep  and  dark  cellar  where 
they  proceeded  to  toucii  him  up  with  fists  and  feet 
that  he  might  not  be  able  to  identify  himself  again. 
After  materially  spoiling  his  appearance,  they  made 
themselves  presents  of  the  photographs  and  letters 
which  they  found  in  his  possession,  gave  him  a  few 
parting  touches,  and  then  went  away  to  prepare  an 

ofiicial  statement  of  their  side  of  the  ca.se.     Ambleleo- 

o 

now  had  no  more  use  for  the  Justaytine  mansion,  or 
the  Justaytine  beauty,  so  he  made  up  his  mind  to  heal 
his  heart  and  his  bruises  with  a  $10,000  balm.  For 
this  purpose  he  went  into  court.  Miss  Silica  had 
winged  herself  away  to  the  Rosebud  Sulphur  Springs, 
and  was  not  aware  of  the  fame  herself  and  her  chorus 
singer  were  achieving  at  home.  Aml)leleg  hired  him 
two  lawyers  to  plead  his  cause,  and  then  there  was  a 
great  uproar  all  over  the  country.  The  papers  busied 
themselves  al)out  the  matter  very  much,  and  impu- 
dently published  all  the  details  that  they  could  get 
hold  of.  (^uitc  natural  it  was  that  when  Miss  Silica 
Justaytine  arrived  at  the  Rosebud  Sulphur  Springs, 
the  fashionable  and  celebrated  beauties  there  should 
be  so  jealous  of  her  triumj)!!  over  a  chorus  singer,  that 
they  were  sparing  of  their  attentions  and  cutting  in 
their  remarks.     Some  of  the  same  envious  ones  had  had 


THE  MAIDEN  AND  THE  TENOR.         301 

food  for  gossip  a  season  or  two  before  over  Miss  Silica 
Justaytiue's  capture  of  a  $15,000,000  ex-Prcsideiital 
candidate.  That  a  woman  should  range  all  the  way 
from  a  Presidential  candidate  to  a  chorus  singer,  was 
unusual  and  interesting.  So  unpleasant  did  the  gos- 
siping souls  at  Kosebud  Sulphur  Springs  make  it  for 
Miss  Silica  Justaytine,  that  she  hastened  back  to  the 
more  congenial  atmosphere  of  her  home  on  Pinafore 
Avenue.  In  the  meantime,  her  prize-fighting  brother 
and  Mr.  Praymore  had,  with  the  same  courage  that 
impelled  them  to  decoy  Mr.  Ambleleg  into  a  cellar, 
and  beat  him,  and  draw  a  Gatling  gun  on  him,  fallen 
down  on  their  knees  before  Miss  Silica  Justaytine  and 
asked  her  to  plead  their  cause.  She  consented,  and  by 
a  swift-footed  courier  sent  Ambleles;  a  messajje  accom- 
panied  by  the  talismanic  words,  "Pzp/)o"  and 
"Amethyst."  He  stopped  smoking  a  five-cent  cigar 
and  rushed  out  to  the  Justaytine  mansion  like  a  fire- 
engine  pursued  by  an  insurance  man.  His  lawyer 
seized  his  coat-tail  and  followed,  the  two  arrivins; 
there  out  of  breath,  the  one  bent  on  money,  the  other 
called  by  the  sweet  voice  of  love. 

''Oh,  Pippol"    . 

"Oh,  Bettina!'' 

This  was  the  salutation  that  fell  from  the  two  lovers 
as  their  eyes  melted  into  each  other. 

''Pippo,  you  have  sued  my  prize-fighting  brother 
and  my  ostensible  lover  for  $10,000.  They  are  short 
of  cash  just  now  and  cannot  conveniently  pay.  Please 
cut  down  the  amount  just  a  little  bit,  dear  Pippo. 
For  the  sake  of  this  amethyst  (shows  him  the  ring)  I 
beg  of  you  cut  it  down,"  said  she. 

"I'll  cut  it  down,  Bettina^''''  he  said,  '•  but  I  do  it 
only  for  your  sweet  dear  sake." 

"How much?"  she  asked. 


302  THE   MAIDEN   AND   TIIK   TENOR. 

"All  I  want,"  he  answered,  "is  enoni:;h  to  huy  a 
silver  watch,  a  new  snit  of  clothes,  pay  my  hoard  and 
wash  hill,  get  me  three  cigars  for  ten  cents,  and  take 
me  home  to  my  mother.  I  think  I  can  get  along  with 
$500." 

"  Is  that  all?"  the  charminiz;  and  deli<2;lited  creature 
inquired. 

"Not  quite  all,"  put  in  Auil)lelcg ;  "  the  two  law- 
yers I  have  hired  cannot  he  assuaged  with  less  than 
$")00.  We  three — that  is,  the  two  lawyers  and  my- 
self—  want  $.500  a[)iece.  Thus  you  see  I  cut  the 
$10,000  down  $8,500,"  and  he  jammed  his  thunihs 
into  the  arm-holes  of  his  vest  and  assumed  the  attitude 
of  a  man  who  could  lose  that  amount  in  a  game  of 
poker  every  day  in  the  week  and  never   feel  the  loss. 

"  Oh,  Pippo,  you  arc  so  good  to  reduce  so  liher- 
ally,"  said  Miss  Justaytine,  and  she  threw  her  arms 
around  his  n(jck  and  kissed  him  in  a  wild  and  irre- 
sponsihle  way. 

Thus  the  interview  ended,  and  as  Ami)lele<r  amhled 
down  the  front  steps  Miss  Silica  Justaytine  sat  down 
at  her  i)iano,  ecstatically  thrummed  it  and  enthusiasti- 
cally sang :  — 

A  feather-licaded  youii^  man, 

A  goosey-goosey  young  man, 

An  utterly  Ic^oncy,  much  too-sooney, 

Swallow-the-biiit  young  man. 

The  lawyers  suhsequently  fixed  the  matter  up  among 
themselves,  and  Ambleleg,  after  getting  a  few  dollars 
and  a  new  pair  of  heavy-soled  shoes,  struck  out  nobly 
for  the  home  of  his  mother.  When  last  heard  from 
he  still  had  a  good  chorus  voice  and  was  helping  to 
fill  in  the  intervals  of  comic  opera  with  his  low  and  gen- 
tle howl. 

•  •••«» 


CHAPTER    XXI. 


FISHING    FOR    FREE    PUFFS. 


The  merchant  who  has  anything  to  dispose  of  adver- 
tises it,  and  the  most  successful  men  in  any  line  of 
business  are  those  Avho  are  most  liberal  in  the  use 
of  printers'  ink.  The  theatrical  fraternity  thoroughly 
understand  this,  and  their  first  and  foremost  idea  in 
everything  they  do  is  to  get  themselves  before  the 
public,  and,  if  possible,  keep  themselves  there.  Their 
appreciation  of  the  value  of  a  puff  or  notice  is  beauti- 
fully set  forth  in  the  following  funny  paragraph  which 
I  found  floating  around  in  the  newspapers  :  — 

"A  Leadville  paper  stated  that  a  well-known  actress 
who  visited  that  city  went  to  a  saloon  after  a  per- 
formance, played  poker,  got  drunk,  licked  the  bar- 
tender, and  cleaned  out  the  crowd.  Of  course  she  was 
very  indignant  and  was  going  to  cowhide  the  editor, 
when  the  amazed  journalist  explained  to  her  that  it 
was  a  first-class  pufi"  that  Avould  get  her  an  opening  in 
society  in  Leadville.  And  then  she  thanked  him  and 
gave  him  a  dozen  passes." 

Some  actors,  and  some  actresses,  too,  do  not  care 
a  cent  what  the  means  employed  are  or  what  the 
printed  matter  is,  so  the  names  are  their  own  and  once 
more  they  are  before  the  people.  The  great  majority, 
however,  while  anxious  to  appear  in  print  as  often  and 
in  as  many  columns  as  a  paper  can  spare  without 
throwing  out  paying  advertisements,  are  very  scrupu- 
lous about  the  character  of  the  statements  credited  to 

(303) 


o 
p. 
>'. 

> 
< 


< 

o 

a: 


> 


O 
CO 


''^^M^ 


FISHING    FOR   FREE    PUFFS.        -  305 

them  or  actions  spoken  of,  while  all  affect  to  be  ntterly 
independent  of  the  press  and  to  have  no  regard  what- 
ever for  the  good  it  can  do  them,  or  the  harm  either. 
If  they  meant  what  they  said  they  might  be  set  down 
as  foolish ;  but  they  do  not  mean  anything  of  the 
kind,  and  the  fact  that  day  after  day  the  most  out- 
rageous stories  about  professional  people  go  uncon- 
troverted,  is  an  indication  that  not  only  are  they 
willing  to  have  such  things  published,  but  may  have 
instigated  them  themselves. 

The  only  kind  of  newspaper  notice  a  Thespian  might 
not  court,  but  which,  once  printed,  would  be  looked 
upon  philosophically  as  so  much  printers'  ink  obtained 
for  nothing  —  so  much  advertising  had  that  wasn't 
paid  for  —  is  such  a  one  as  the  announcement  of  the 
attempt  of  a  sheriff  to  lasso  Miss  Fanny  Davenport, 
in  order  that  he  might  be  able  to  hold  her  long 
enouo;h  to  read  a  writ  of  some  sort  to  her. 

Different  actors  and  actresses  have  different  ways  of 
advertising  themselves.  The  interview  is  a  favorite 
with  some,  and  often  the  interview  is  so  arranged  that 
the  player  can  appear  before  the  newspaper  man  in 
some  eccentric  attitude  that  will  attract  more  attention 
than  all  the  player  could  say  if  he  talked  for  one  hun- 
dred years.  Harry  'Sargent  likes  a  reporter  to  see 
Modjeska,  and  as  the  visitor  enters  he  finds  the  Polish 
actress  firing  across  the  room  with  a  pistol  at  a  small 
target,  which  she  manages  to  hit  every  time.  Dis- 
playing diamonds  is  another  scheme  to  catch  the  un- 
wary newspaper  man.  Sending  along  photographs  is 
expected  to  throw  an  editor  into  an  ecstacy  of  liberal- 
ity out  of  which  he  will  come  with  at  least  a  half-col- 
umn puff  of  the  pretty  creature  whose  counterpart 
presentment  has  been  sent  to  him.     Diamond  robberies 

20 


306  FISHINC    Foil    TFJKE    PUFFS. 

arc  Avoith  at  least  a  coluiiiii.  Falling  heir  to  $5,000,- 
000  or  more  will  briiiix  -"i  interview  that  will  l)e  worth 
almost  as  much  as  the  Iciracv.  In  everythiiiii:  an 
actor  or  an  actress  says  and  does  the  newspaper  will 
find  something  wvirth  printing,  and  in  i)rinting  it  the 
pa[)er  does  exactly  what  the  actor  or  actress  wants  — 
places  him  or  her  before  Ihe  public.  Mme.  Janauschek 
gets  a  slight  jolt  in  going  down  the  shaft  of  a  Colorado 
mine,  and  the  country  is  immediately  informed  that 
she  has  had  a  narrow  escape  from  death.  Minnie 
Maddern,  a  new  star  who  ex[)ects  to  rival  Lotta,  is 
made  a  brevet  officer  of  the  Continental  Guards  of 
New  Oi'leans,  and  her  manager  feels  assured  that  the 
people  of  the  United  States  would  not  sleep  well  if 
they  didn't  hear  about  it  within  twenty-four  hours,  so 
he  gets  the  Associated  Press  to  telegraph  it  in  all  direc- 
tions, that  at  least  a  few  lives  may  be  saved.  A  Bo- 
hemian prince  presents  Emma  Thursby,  at  Prague, 
with  a  pair  of  nightingales,  and  about  ten  lines  of 
every  newspaper  this  side  of  the  Atlantic  are  wasted 
in  making  the  silly  announcement.  The  souvenir  and 
ilower  "  rackets  "  both  carry  a  certain  weight,  and  the 
lithograph  that  fdls  the  eye  as  one  gazes  into  a  shoe 
store  window  is  a  glory  that  can  never  fade  from  the 
optic  that  has  even  for  a  second  of  time  dwelt  upon  it. 
Minnie  Palmer,  if  all  i-cports  l)c  Irue,  came  to  the 
front  some  time  ago  with  a  new  hid  I'or  a  free  adver- 
tiseraent.  She  entertained  a  Louisville  (Jowiei'-Jour- 
7i«?  reporter  with  a  display  that  must  have  made  the 
3'oung  man  blush.  "  Our  company  has  got  into  the 
chemise  fever,"  exclaimed  Minnie,  artlessly,  "  and 
we're  trying  to  see  which  can  make  the  prettiest  one. 
I'll  show  thcni  to  you,"  and  then,  i-ogardlcss  of  the 
helpless  man's  blushes,  she  disemboweled  a  trunk  and 
buried  him  beneath  an  avalanche  of  snowv  underwear. 


FISHING   FOR    FREE    PUFFS, 


307 


Their  construction  was  minutely  explained,  and  then 
the  conversation  naturally  led  to  flannels,  which  Min- 
nie confidentially  remarked  could  not  be  Worn  by 
actors  because  of  the  risk  of  colds  wheu  compelled  to 


ERNESTI   ROSSI. 


leave  them  off*.  The  theme  could  scarcely  be  pursued 
further  than  flannels,  and  the  interview  closed  with 
Minnie's  confession  that  she  didn't  like  to  be   hii2:2:ed 


oo" 


on  the   stage  in  warm  weather.     In  winter,  and  unen- 


308  FISHING   FOR  FREE   rUFFS. 

cumbered  by  flannels,  the  operation  was  not  so  dis- 
tasteful. All  of  this  may  seem  irrelevant,  and  having 
very  little  to  do  with  dramatic  art,  but  it  made  a  col- 
umn for  Minnie  all  the  same. 

The  Abbott  Kiss,  invented  by  John  T.  McEnnis,  a 
reporter  on  the  St.  Louis  Post- Dispatch^  but  always 
claimed  by  Jimmy  ]\Iorrissey,  who  was  her  agent  at 
the  time,  traveled  everywhere  and  was  printed  in 
every  newspaper  from  New  York  to  San  Francisco. 
It  had  just  about  played  out  when  in  1881,  during  the 
prevalence  of  small-pox,  Miss  Abbott  had  herself  vac- 
cinated on  one  of  her  lower  limbs,  and  again  tiie  papers 
advertised  her.  She  afterwards  acted  in  the  capacity 
of  interviewer  for  the  St.  Louis  Globe- Democrat,  and 
was  commissioned  to  get  a  talk  out  of  Patti,  but  spent 
all  the  time  she  was  with  the  diva  in  kissing  and  hug- 
ing  her,  and  when  she  came  away  from  her  had  noth- 
ing to  write  about.  Still  Miss  Abbott  is  a  hard-work- 
ing,  gifted,  and  agreeable  little  lady,  and  must  be 
regarded  as  the  best  lyric  prima  donna  America  can 
boast  of. 

Speaking  about  Patti :  she  came  to  the  United  States 
under  foreign  management,  and  with  all  her  sweetness 
and  beauty  of  voice  and  the  greatness  of  her  reputa- 
tion, she  could  do  nothing  until  an  American  manager 
who  understood  the  art  of  advertising  took  hold  of 
her.  lie  began  his  work  at  once  by  decorating  his 
theatre  in  lavish  style  for  her  first  concert,  and  com- 
pleted his  initial  triumi)li  by  causing  a  crowd  of 
young  fellows  to  unhitch  the  horses  from  Patti's  car- 
ria^re  and  run  with  the  vehicle  through  the  streets  to 
her  hotel.  The  report  next  day  said  the  amateur 
horses  were  society  swells,  and  so  the  news  went  into 
every  State  of  the  Union.  Neilson's  carriage  was 
drairged  through   the   street   in   the  same  way  once  at 


FISHING  FOR  FREE   PUFFS.  309 

Toronto.  Patti  got  another  free  "  ad."  by  visiting 
Paddy  Ryan,  the  pugilist  John  Sullivan  knocked  out 
of  time,  in  his  training  quarters  at  New  Orleans,  just 
as  Bernhardt  went  to  see  Eno-lehardt's  whale  at  Bos- 
ton  for  the  sake  of  the  advertisement  she  got. 

Just  as  Schneider  kicked  herself  into  the  good  graces 
of  the  Parisians,  Catherine  Lewis,  of  *'  Olivette  "  fame, 
managed  to  *'  fling  "  herself  into  popularity  here.  The 
Lewis  fling  in  the  farandole  was  known  and  sought 
after  everywhere.  It  was  a  wild  and  wayward  tossing 
of  limbs  and  arms  that  caught  the  eye  and  held  the 
attention  not  so  much  because  there  Avas  anything 
artistic  in  it,  but  because  one  expected  every  minute 
to  see  it  grow  less  and  less  restrained  until  it  broke 
out  into  something  like  the  reckless  indecency  of  the 
cancan.  It  advertised  Catherine  Lewis  as  she  has  not 
been  advertised  since,  and  as  she  probably  never  will 
be  again.  As  the  "fling"  is  not  dead  yet  I  will  try 
to  describe  it.  After  the  solo  and  while  the  first  chorus 
is  being  given  she  moves  back  with  the  other  dancers, 
throwing  her  arms  from  right  to  left  and  left  to  right 
again,  when  the  dancers  came  to  a  standstill.  Olivette 
is  seen  posing  in  a  lop-sided,  Pisa-like  attitude,  with 
both  arms  and  head  inclining  to  the  left.  The  chorus 
is  repeated,  and  as  the  repetition  begins  the  dancers 
turn  themselves  loose  with  Olivette  in  the  van. 
*'  Oho  "  she  sings  and  swings  to  the  left ;  "  Oho  "  to 
the  right,  "  Oho"  to  the  left  again,  when  out  pops 
the  left  slipper,  followed  swiftly  by  the  right  ditto,  and 
the  toe  of  the  latter  foot-covering  tumbles  over  the 
horizon  of  the  orchestra  leader's  head,  and  there  is  a 
confusion  of  embroidery  and  white  linen  and  silk  hose 
that  fills  the  eye  of  the  man  in  the  parquette  with  a 
flash  of  joy  and  causes  a  warm  still  wind  to  roll  in  a 
breezeful  way  around  his  cardiacal  region.     "Oho," 


310  FISHING   I  OR   FREE   PUFFS. 

*'  Oho  "  aiul  "  Oho  "  aG^ain,  with  more  hodv  tlirow- 
inir,  and  this  time  the  elevation  of  the  toe  of  the  K-Ct 
slipper  above  the  line  of  vision,  just  a  little  higher  than 
before,  followed  by  three  more  '*  Oho's,"  and  the 
quivering  of  the  satin  slipper  on  the  right  foot  high 
over  the  foot-lights  and  in  close  range  to  the  man  with 
iield  glasses  to  his  eye."?  who  is  sitting  in  the  first  row 
of  the  panjuette.  And  that's  all  there  is  to  the  faran- 
dole — nine  swings  or  throws  of  the  body  and  three 
kicks  every  time  she  comes  down  the  staije,  the  nlti- 
tude.of  the  kick  growing  with  each  succeeding  ellort 
until  the  last  spasmodic,  airial  evolution  of  the  satin 
slipper  brings  about  a  display  of  linen  that  would  do 

Tcdit  to  the  lingerie  counter  of   a  dry  gockls  store. 

)Hvette  has  the  attention  of  the  entire  audience  while 
this  is  eroiuiX  <>n.  She  ijoes  up  and  comes  down  the 
rtaire  twice,  swinizinc:  and  kicking  with  an  anatomical 
riot  behind  her,  every  female  member  of  the  company 
from  the  chorus  girl  up  to  the  Countesfi  vying  with 
Olivette  in  sendini;  the  farandole  ofT  with  a  hurrah  and 
multii)licity  of  "  flings."     When  the  chorus  has  come 

o  an  end,  there  is  a  bold  encore  for  its  repetition,  and 
away  they  go  again. 

Oh!     oil!     Oh!     Oh! 

Tlien  would  they  be  missinjr, 
Surely  the  girls  went  round  about 
So  long  it  took  them  finding  out. 
Oh!     Oh!'    Oh!     Oh! 

Till  something  like  kissing, 
Told  us  plainly  as  could  be 
Where  were  he  and  she. 

Miss  Lewis  at  one  time  while  in  New  York  was  freely 
advertised  in  both  meanings  of  the  word,  because  she 
sold  tickets  for  her  bciicliL  in  her  room  at  the  hotel, 
where  all  could  apply  to  purchase  them. 

Maggie  Duggan,  a  young  lady  until  recently  compar- 


FISIIINa   rOU   FREE   PUFFS. 


311 


ativcly  unknown,  has  suddenly  made  herself  famous  by 
nightly  kicking  her  slipper  to  the  top  of  the  Bijou 
Theatre,    New    York.      She    is    a    comic   opera   singer. 


SLIPPERS    FOR    FREE    PUFFS. 


This   is  lofty  limb  work   that    Mile.    Sara,  the  original 
high  kicker,  might  envy. 

Emilie  Melville,  an  operatic  star  of  California,  in  look- 


312  FISHING   Fon   FREE   PUFFS. 


ing  over  her  stock  of  presents  could  think  of  noth- 
ing more  suitable  or  anything  that  would  prove  more 
acceptable  to  the  dramatic  critics  of  San  Francisco  and 
her  friends  than  to  give  each  one  of  her  slippers.  So 
she  held  a  reception;  and,  dressed  in  Oriental  toilet, 
she  presented  each  as  he  came  with  one  of  the  tiny 
silken  slippers  in  which  her  tootsies  used  to  slumber  on 
the  stage.  It  was  such  a  novel  proceeding  that  Miss 
Mt'lvillegot  more  gratuitous  i)uffing  than  she  could  have 
paid  for  with  the  profits  of  one  of  her  best  seasons. 

Henry  Mapleson,  whom  I  know  has  no  fear  of  the 
newspaper  man,  but  rather  courts  his  society  and  wooes 
the  columns  of  his  paper,  made  the  following  ridiculous 
statement  (to  a  reporter)  concerning  the  manner  in 
which  he  and  his  wife,  Marie  Roze,  were  pestered  by 
reporters  on  the  road:  "They  began  early  in  the 
morning.  When  I  first  opened  my  bed-room  door  I 
was  sure  to  find  one  or  two  outside  of  it.  No  detail 
was  too  small  for  them.  They  would  follow  us  around 
and  give  scraps  of  our  conversation,  and  one  fellow 
even  sat  iit  the  same  dinner-table  Avith  us  in  Kansas 
City  and  printed  a  list  of  all  the  things  my  wile  ate, 
making  it  about  five  times  as  long  as  the  truth  called 
for,  and  adding  such  trifles  as  four  oranges,  six  pieces 
of  cake,  etc.  My  wife  was  so  angry  when  this  account 
appeared  in  the  afternoon  paper  that  avc  determined  to 
have  our  supper  in  our  room,  and,  as  the  landlord  would 
not  consent  to  that,  I  bouijht  a  steak  during  the  even- 
ing, and  Marie  Roze,  still  dressed  as  Helen  of  Trny^ 
began  to  cook  it  over  a  spirit  lamp.  Wo  were  con- 
gratulating ourselves  that  no  reporter  would  know  any- 
thing about  that  supper,  when  a  knock  was  given  on 
the  door.  '  Who's  there?'  I  called  out.  The  answer 
came  l)aok  through  the  keyhole  :  '  I  am  a  reporter  of 
the  MoniiiKj  Buzzardy  and  I  want  to  know  what  you 


FISHING   FOR   FRRE   PUFFS.  813 

had  for  supper.     That  Evening  Crow  fellow  got  ahead 
of  me  on  the  dinner,  but  I'll  fetch  him  on  the  supper.'  " 

A  story  that  illustrates,  in  an  exaggerated  way, 
though,  the  tricks  of  the  dramatic  profession,  is  told  of 
a  shrewd  agent  who  found  himself  in  Mansfield,  Ohio, 
with  a  company  on  his  hands  and  pursued  by  bad 
business  so  relentlessly  that  he  began  to  have  doubts 
that  he  would  ever  see  Union  Square  again.  In  this 
strait  he  called  his  never-failing  wits  to  his  aid  and 
devised  a  plan  straightway  that  led  him  out  of  the  diffi- 
culty, as  had  happened  to  him  many  a  time  before.  He 
went  to  the  room  of  his  star  —  his  leading  lady  —  and 
knocked.  He  was  admitted.  "  Why,  Sam,"  said 
she,  "  what  do  you  want  at  this  hour?" 

"  I  want  your  ear,"  said  he. 

*'  Oh,  is  that  all,"  said  the  leading  lady,  recovering 
from  her  pallor  ;  "  I  thought —  but  no  matter ;  go  on." 

*'  You  know  business  is  bad,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  I  should  smile,"  said  the  artiste  ;  *'  since  I 
haven't  had  any  salary  for  four  weeks.  What's  the 
new  racket." 

*'  It's  this,"  said  the  agent :  "  If  we  expect  to  go  out 
of  this  town  we've  got  to  do  something  Napoleonic. 
And  you've  got  to  do  it." 

"  You  forget  my  sex,"  said  she. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  said  he  ;  "  there  may  be  a  Napoleon 
in  petticoats  as  well  as  in  trousers." 

' '  Very  well ,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  get  a  column  in  each  of  the  daily 
papers." 

*'  Well,  I  guess  you'll  want  it,  for  all  the  newspaper 
boys  know  we've  got  a  snide  show  this  time,"  she 
said. 

"  Well,  I  guess  not,  if  you'll  do  what  I  tell  you," 
said  the  artful  ao-ent. 

**  What  is  that?"  inquired   '^e  guileless  actress. 


314  FISHING   FOR   FREE    PUFFS.    . 

*' You  know  the  railroad  bridire  outside  of  town?" 

♦'  That  shaky  old  wooden  structure  of  patched  logs 
and  sleepers?  " 

"  Yes." 

♦♦  Well,  what  of  it?" 

*'  That  bridge  will  get  us  roliimns  in  every  paper  for 
forty  miles  around." 

"  You've  got  'em,  Sam,  sure.' 

♦'  No,  I  haven't.  I'm  solid  on  the  biz.  Now  listen  : 
I  want  you  to  go  to-morrow  and  stand  in  the  middle 
of  that  bridge  when  the  two  2  :20  trains  pass  each 
other  going  in  opposite  directions." 

"  Well,  you  are  fresh.      What'U  I  do  that  for?  " 

««  For  an  'ad.'  " 

*'  And  where  will  I  be  when  the  trains  pass?  " 
.  *' Wliy,  if  you're  smart  and  listen  to  me,  you'll  be 
clinging  to  the  trestle-work  underneath  until  they  pass 
over  yon,  then  I'll  head  on  back  to  the  hotel  and  have 
all  the  reporters  come  up  and  interview  you,  and  then 
there  will   be  columns   published,    the   house   will  be 
filled  that  night  and  we  will  rake  in  a  heavy  stake."   ' 
The  actress  saw  the.  point  and  had  the  pluck  to  exe- 
cute the  project  of  the  agent.     She  stood  on  the  bridge 
at   the    a{)pointed   time.       She  slirieked   in   the  most 
frantic  manner.     The  enj'ineer  reversed  the  en<;ine  and 
whistled    down    bi-akcs,   ])nt  in    spite   of  all  the  train 
passed  over  her.     Tiiere  was  a  great  sensation.     She 
was  dragged  out  from  the  trestle-work  and  taken  to 
the   hotel.      Tiie    papers    which    would    not  take  the 
advertiseuKMit  of  the  show  because  the  manager  could 
not  pay  in    advance    sent  reporters  to  interview   the 
actress  on  her  narrow  escape,  and  gave  columns  to  the 
company.     The  result  was  a  series  of  full  houses  and 
the    "snides"    made  a  triumi)hant  march    eastward 
on  the  impetus  of  the  shrewd  agent's  ♦'  g^g-^' 


CHAPTER     XXII. 


THE    ACTRESS    AND    THE    INTERVIEWER. 

In  no  other  country  in  the  world  does  the  inter- 
viewer's profession  thrive  as  in  these  United  States. 
From  the  cabinet  minister  —  na3%  the  President  him- 
self—  down  to  the  common  felon,  all  at  different  times 
are  liable  to  what  is  called  "  the  pressure  of  the  pump- 
ing process."  Some  classes  naturally  like  being 
interviewed,  because  all  publicity  ad(is  to  their  impor- 
tance and  notoriety.  The  politicians  are  a  specimen  of 
this  species.  Then,  again,  another  class  regards  the 
interview  as  a  legitimate  means  of  advertising  and 
of  attracting  public  attention  to  themselves  and  their 
doings.  This  class  specially  includes  the  dramatic  pro- 
fession. An  enterprising  manager  is  always  ready  to 
introduce  his  star  to  a  journalist.  Actresses  and  prima 
donne  are  to  a  great  degree  public  personages,  and 
there  is  an  insatiable  desire  on  the  part  of  individuals 
to  learn  somethins:  of  the  foot-lio;ht  favorites  when  thev 
have  doffed  the  stage  costume,  rubbed  off  the  paint  and 
powder,  and  become,  as  it  were,  for  the  time  being  an 
ordinary  mortal.  Hence,  the  newspapers  have  catered 
to  this  popular  inquisitiveness,  and  there  is  scarcely  an 
actress  or  sweet  singer  of  note  who  has  not  passed  the 
ordeal  of  the  interviewing  fiend.  Mr.  Henry  W. 
Moore,  city  editor  and  dramatic  critic  of  the  St.  Louis 
Post- Dispatch,  who  has  done  as  much  interviewing  in 
this  line  as  any  newsj)aper  man  in  the  Western  country, 

(315) 


316  THE   ACTRESS   AND   THE   INTERVIEWER. 

thus  records  his  impressions  of  the  operatic  and 
dramatic  celebrities  whom  he  has  met  :  — 

Adelina  Patti,  the  casta  diva,  always  receives  the 
journalist  attired  in  handsome  toilettes.  Her  marriage 
with  the  jSIarquis  de  Caux  rendered  her  aristocratic  in 
manners,  and  her  behavior  always  has  in  it  a  tinge  of 
noblesse  oblige.  There  is  an  almost  imperceptible 
flavor  of  condescension  in  her  tone,  which,  while 
courteous,  is  rather  formal.  Since  her  separation  from 
Do  Caux,  La  Marquise  has  become  more  accessible, 
and  both  she  and  Nicolini  are  almost  warm  in  their 
etViisions  to  journalists. 

Christine  Nilsson  receives  the  interviewer  pleasantly, 
but  rather  dignified  in  manner.  She  is  somewhat  cold 
in  conversation,  but  her  manners  are  alwa^'S  conrteous. 
She  talks  little. 

Etclka  Gerster  likes  the  interviewer.  At  first  she 
regarded  him  as  an  American  curiosity,  l)ut  having 
learned  his  value  she  began  to  caress  him.  Gerster  is 
not  at  all  so  sweet  in  i)i-ivate  life  as  is  generally  be- 
lieved. The  Hungarian  prima  donna  is  very  passionate 
and  quick-tempered,  and  rnles  her  husband.  Dr. 
Gardine,  with  her  whims.  In  the  presence  of  the 
journalist  she  conceals  her  claws  beneath  her  velvety 
hand  and  is  sweetness  itself.  She  talks  much,  dotes 
on  America  and  the  American  people,  and  all  that  sort 
of  gush.  Her  dresses  are  not  particularly  artistic, 
conveying  the  impression  that  she  is  slovenly  in  this 
reirard. 

Clara  Kellogg  submits  to  an  iiilcrview  as  if  it  were 
a  rcgnlar  business  transaction.  Ilcr  mother  is  always 
present  and  will  frequently  make  suggestions.  Miss 
Kellogg  chats  pleasantly,  bnt  she  has  no  warmth  in  her 
manner  ami  no  magnotism  in  her  conversation. 

Annie  Louise  Cary  is  what  the  journalists  term  a 


THE    ACTRESS    AND    THE    INTERVIEWER.  317 

"  j"l^y  "  gii"^'  She  does  not  care  a  whit  what  she  says 
or  does.  She  will  lausrh  and  chat  as  if  the  interviewer 
were  an  old  acquaintance.  She  greets  him  with  a  sjDon- 
taneous  warmth  and  familiarity  which  are  pleasant  to 
him.  He  may  ask  the  most  inquisitive  questions  and 
she  will  reply  with  a  shrewd  smile.  Amiable,  good- 
tempered  and  lively  in  disposition,  she  is  a  «great 
favorite  with  newspaper  men. 

Minnie  Hauk  is  impetuosity  personified.  Minnie 
usually  has  a  grievance  against  her  manager,  and  she 
will  pour  her  woes  iuto  the  journalist's  ears  with  re- 
markable loquacity.  But  Miunie  has  a  mother.  After 
the  interviewer  is  gone  Minnie  will  send  him  a  note  or 
a  messenger  requesting  him  in  Heaven's  name  not  to 
publish  what  she  said  or  she  would  be  undone.  Yet, 
the  next  time  Minnie  meets  a  night  of  the  quill  she 
reiterates  her  woes  and  wrongs  with  the  same  impetu- 
osity. She  is  frank  to  a  fault,  and  confides  a  good  deal  in 
human  nature.  Her  frankness  has  involved  her  several 
times  in  trouble.  She  is  very  apt  to  become  unrea- 
sonably jealous  of  any  other  prima  donna  in  the  troujDe, 
and  thus  always  keeps  the  impressario  in  a  state  of 
nervousness. 

Emma  Abbott  is  the  gusher  par  excellence.  At  the 
first  glance  of  the  interviewer  she  rushes  towards  him, 
seizes  him  with  both  her  hands,  is  Oh,  so,  so  glad  to 
see  him  !  She  talks  with  great  rapidity  and  unceas- 
ingly. The  scribe  to  her  is  an  old  familiar  friend. 
She  insists  on  his  calling  on  her,  dining  with  her,  etc., 
etc.  Her  friendliness  is  overwhelmino;.  She  loads  the 
journalist  with  favors,  and  almost  embraces  him  in  the 
ardor  of  her  afiection. 

Sarah  Bernhardt  has  all  the  French  warmth  and 
demonstrativeness.  She  is  witty  and  vivacious  in  her 
conversation,  really  likes  journalists,  and  will  spend  a 
whole  day  with  them.     She  never  tires,  and  is  a  study 


318  THE    ACTRESS    AND    THE    INTERVIEWER. 

to  the  newspaper  man.  She  is,  however,  not  insensi- 
ble to  flattery.  Her  curiosity  about  things  American 
is  very  keen.  Being  a  delightful  entertainer,  she  was 
very  popular  with  the  journalistic  profession.  'Slio  is 
fond  of  inviting  thera  to  breakfast. 

Clara  Morris  is  an  excellent  subject  for  an  interview. 
Miss  Morris  always  prepares  to  receive  the  representa- 
tive of  the  press  in  some  picturesque  attitude  or  pose. 
She  has  a  fine  perception  of  artistic  eflcct,  and  never 
loses  sight  of  the  fact  that  it  is  an  interview,  and  hence 
has  an  eye  to  what  will  appear  in  print.  Tn  her  dis- 
course she  aims  to"  be  epigrammatic  and  Avitty  ;  likes 
to  be  novel  and  original.  Her  knowledge  is  very 
varied,  and  she  converses  with  ease  and  fluency.  Her 
face  sparkles,  and  her  reception  is  always  extremely 
cordial. 

Modjeska,  otherwise  the  Countess  Bozcnta,  is,  per- 
haps, the  best  educated  actress  on  the  sta<re.  She  is  a 
gifted  linguist,  well  read  in  French,  German,  and  Ejig- 
lish  literature.  She  is  a  charming  conversationalist. 
In  manners  she  is  a  perfect  lady,  without  any  stage 
eccentricities.  She  is  a  deliirhtful  hostess,  and  dis- 
penses  hospitality  most  gracefully.  Her  bearing  is 
courteous  but  thoroughly  friendly,  and  there  is  the 
im[)rcss  of  ]a  grande  dame  in  her  demeanor.  She  is 
partial  to  canine  pets. 

Adelaide  Neilson  captured  every  journalist  who  ever 
interviewed  her.  She  seemed  to  bend  :ill  licr  eneriries 
to  cajjtivate  her  visitor.  Her  remarkable  beauty  was 
a  powerful  aid,  and  the  charm  of  her  manner  was  irre- 
sistible. When  necessary,  she  was  almost  a  man  of 
business,  and  transacted  her  affairs  with  much  abilit3\ 
Poor  Adelaide  was  too  potent  a  spell  for  ordinar}'  iu- 
ten'iewers  to  withstand,  and  she  always  carried  her 
point. 

Mary  Anderson  is  a  great  talker.     I  lor  mother  and 


THK    ACTRESS    AND    THE    INTERVIEWER.  319 

wtep-fiither,  Dr.  Hamilton  Griffin,  are  usually  in  at- 
tendance at  an  interview.  She  is  decided  in  her  opin- 
ions, and  expresses  her  views  fearlessly,  but  her 
remarks  are  superficial.  She  is  lively  and  a  regular 
tom-boy,  and  hesitates  at  nothing. 

Fanny  Davenport,  who  is  noted  for  her  expensive 
costumes  on  the  stage,  is  the  reverse  in  private  life. 
She  is  nearly  always  in  a  neglige  attire  and  looks  some- 
what slovenly.  Fanny  is  rather  averse  to  the  inter- 
viewer, but  when  she  submits  she  is  as  charming  and 
pleasant  a  hostess  as  can  be  imagined.  But  neverthe- 
less she  thinks  it  a  decided  bore  to  entertain. 

Maggie  Mitchell  is  a  whole-souled,,  generous  woman, 
without  a  spark  of  affectation.  She  is  frank,  pleasant, 
and  amiable. 

Lotta,  vivacious  Lotta,  is  very  demure  in  the  pres- 
ence of  her  mother  and  the  journalist.  She  is  quite 
unlike  the  Lotta  of  the  stage.  Mrs.  Crabtree  joins  in 
the  conversation,  which  Lotta  carries  on  in  a  very  sub- 
dued* but  friendly  manner. 

Janauschek  is  firm,  solid,  and  determined  in  her 
convictions.  She  has  strong  likes  and  dislikes.  She 
talks  with  much  emphasis. 

Mrs.  D.  P.  BoAvers  is  a  pleasant  lady  to  visit.  She 
is  quite  motherly  in  her  manners.  Her  conversation 
contains  much  shrewd,  caustic  depth. 

Charlotte  Thompson  is  intellectual.  She  possesses 
what  the  French  call  esprit  and  her  conversation  is 
always  enjoyable. 

Emma  Thursby  is  an  interesting  lady.  The  queen 
of  the  concert-room  is  vivacious,  lively,  and  talkative. 
She  is  exceedingly  fond  of  representatives  of  the  press. 

Marie  Roze  is  only  an  indifferent  entertainer.  She 
is  very  fond  of  pet  dogs.  The  effort  is  always  visible 
in  her  conversation,  and  the  visitor  feels  that  she  be- 
lieves she  is  merely  doing  a  necessary  duty. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 


A   FEW   FOOT-LIGHT    FAVORITES. 

Little  PciTG^Vj  afterwards  the  famous  Mistress  Wof- 
fington,  was  down  at  the  shores  of  Liffey  drawing 
water  for  her  mother,  when  jMadamo  Viohmte,  a  rope- 
walker,  met  her,  and  taking  a  liking  to  the  girl,  made 
terms  with  the  parents  and  obtained  possession  of  her. 
Madame  Violante  Vvalkcd  the  rope  with  a  child  tied  to 
her  feet,  and  lovely  little  Peggy  for  a  while  assisted  in 
this  way  at  her  mistress's  entertainments.  When  the 
Madame  got  to  Dublin  she  found  a  juvenile  company 
playing  "Cinderella"  there,  and  at  once  began  the 
organization  of  a  class  of  children,  who  appeared  in 
the  play  with  Peggy  as  one  of  the  bright  luminaries. 
This  was  her  introduction  to  the  stage,  which  she  trod 
with  such  brilliant  success  in  after  years.  Nor  was 
she  the  only  one  of  the  famous  old  English  actresses 
trained  to  the  drama  from  childhood.  All  through 
the  history  of  theatricals,  from  and  before  Wofhng- 
ton's  time,  children  were  made  participants  in  the 
play,  and  the  seeds  planted  thus  early  ripened  into 
the  richest  fruit.  Until  a  very  recent  date  it  was  not 
deemed  the  duty  of  anybody  to  interfere  with  this 
kind  of  trainiuij — not  even  with  the  barbarous  treat- 
ment  to  which  children  training  for  the  circus  ring 
were  submitted.  Less  than  a  half  century  ago  the 
Viennese  children  went  through  the  country  dancing, 
and  were  unmolested  by  any  philanthropically  inclined 
body   or    any    excessively    humane    individual.     The 

(320) 


MISS    CONNOLLY    IN    ENCHANTMENT. 


A   FEW   FOOT-LIGHT   FAVORITES.  321 

juvenile  "Pinafore"  companies  of  two  seasons  ago 
were  regarded  kindly  by  press  and  public ;  and,  in- 
deed, until  quite  recently  no  extraordinary  war  was 
made  against  presenting  the  talents  of  a  child  actor  or 
actress  to  the  people.  The  Society  for  the  Prevention 
of  Cruelty  to  Children  has,  however,  organized  a 
stubborn  resistance  to  the  employment  of  little  ones 
in  stage  representations  ;  and  while  it  may  be  well  to 
exercise  some  authority  for  the  protection  of  infants 
and  for  the  preservation  of  the  stage  from  a  deluge 
of  child-talent,  there  can  be  no  justification  in  allowing 
that  authority  to  run  riot  in  plucking  every  blossom 
from  the  tree  of  histrionism,  and  erecting  a  permanent 
barrier  against  the  development  of  native  talent,  when 
any  happens  to  exist  in  a  child  of  tender  years.  The 
experience  of  more  than  two  centuries  shows  that  the 
best  training  is  that  which  begins  earliest,  which  begins 
slowly,  and  widens  only  with  the  slow  progress  of  the 
years.  There  are  very  few  actors  or  actresses  who 
have  walked  out  of  private  life  into  the  glare  of  the 
foot-lights  with  anything  like  success.  The  amateur 
may  sometimes  be  suddenly  metamorphosed  into  a 
full-fledged  professional,  with  a  bit  of  reputation  to 
help  him  along  the  road  he  has  chosen  to  travel,  but 
this  happens  very  rarely.  Only  those  who  begin  early 
and  study  hard,  and  who  have  often  to  wait  a  long 
time  for  recognition,  gain  a  place  in  the  Thespian 
temple,  and  it  is  to  those  whose  infant  eyes  open 
almost  upon  the  mysteries  and  wonders  of  the  mimic 
world,  whose  little  limbs  grow  to  strength  behind  the 
scenes,  and  whose  lives  are  identified  completely  with 
all  that  have  place  or  being  behind  the  foot-lights,  that 
it  is  given  to  hope  for  position  in  the  profession  into 
which  they  have  been  born  instead  of  kidnapped. 
I  think  the  society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to 

21 


(322) 


LITTLE    COUINNE. 


A   FEW   rOOT-LIGIlT   FAVORITES.  323 

Children  did  a  very  good  thing  when  it  took  Little 
Corinno  from  the  staije.  The  child  was  overtaxed  far 
beyond  her  years  ;  there  was  nothing  very  clever  about 
her  any  more  than  there  would  be  about  a  school-girl 
of  the  same  age  who  had  been  taught  to  speak  her 
piece  and  did  it  boldly,  but  awkwardly  and  inartisti- 
cally.  It  was  more  painful  than  pleasant  to  sit  out  a 
performance  of  "Cinderella"  with  this  offspring  of 
the  Kemble  family  in  the  role  of  the  heroine  of  the 
glass  slipper,  and  it  was  a  temporary  blessing  to  the 
13ublic  while  the  little  thing  was  kept  out  of  the  way. 
Like  all  the  precocious  ventures  on  the  stage,  Corinne 
will  gradually  fade  from  memory,  and  the  only  thought 
left  of  her  will  be  a  painful  recollection  of  her  childish 
efforts  to  please  the  grown  people  who  were  foolish 
enough  to  go  to  the  theatre  to  see  her. 

The  young  man  or  the  young  lady  who  has  given 
years  of  study  to  preparation  for  the  stage  finds  the 
debut  night  one  fraught  with  fears  and  hopes.  There 
are  friends  behind  the  scenes  and  friends  in  the  audi- 
ence will  ins;  to  overlook  faults  and  exaijo^erate  excel- 
lencies  ;  but  there  are  cold,  stern,  critics,  too,  anxious 
to  puncture  the  new  candidate  for  public  favor  in  every 
tender  spot  their  cruel  eyes  can  search  out,  and  there 
is  the  great  public,  that  fickle  body  whose  applause  or 
condemnation  often  depends  upon  the  whim  of  the 
moment.  The  effort  is  an  enormous  one  to  the  new 
player ;  the  suspense,  frightful.  A  whole  life's  work 
may  be  swept  out  of  sight  in  a  moment,  and  the  life 
itself  blighted  forever.  But  when  the  moment  of  suc- 
cess arrives  —  what  a  thrill  of  joy  the  triumph  sends 
to  the  heart  of  the  actress,  if  actress  it  be  !  What  a 
dream  of  glory  she  already  begins  to  live  in !  How 
her  brain  throbs  and  her  heart  bounds,  and  all  the 
world  seems  a  paradise,  beautiful  and  fair  as  Eden  was 


324  A   FEW   FOOT-LIGHT   FAVORITES. 

Avhou  it  loft  tlio  hands  of  I  ho  Crculor  !  Friciuls  crowd 
:iround,  the  house  is  ringing  with  apphuiso,  and  she 
tears  away  from  Iho  congratulations  and  kisses  and 
hand-shakings  to  step  out  before  the  curtain,  and,  with 
glowing  face  and  tears  in  her  eyes,  kisses  her  hand  and 
makes  a  i)rofoundh'  thankful  obeisance  to  the  audience. 
Then  she  returns  to  her  crowdinLj  friends  on  the  stage, 
from  the  manager  down  to  the  call-boy  and  scene- 
shifters,  and  her  cars  ring  with  praise  and  encouraging 
words  until  it  is  time  for  the  curtain  to  go  up  once 
more. 

The  debut  of  Emma  Livry,  an  artiste  who  promised 
to  lead  a  very  brilliant  career,  but  who  was  suddenly 
and  early  cut  down  by  death,  is  described  in  a  very  in- 
teresting manner  l)y  one  who  was  present.  It  was  at 
the  Grand  0[)era  House,  Paris,  and  the  theatre  was 
filled  from  parquctte  to  dome  with  an  extraordinary 
audience.  Louis  Napoleon  was  there,  and  the  Empress 
Eugenie  ;  princes  and  dukes  filled  the  boxes,  and  the 
nobility  of  France,  representative  Americans  and 
prominent  Englishmen  were  in  the  audience.  Emma 
Livry  was  then  only  sixteen.  From  her  earliest  child- 
hood, says  the  writer,  she  had  been  devoted  to  the  art 
of  dancing  —  though  this  was  no  extraordinary  thing, 
for  th(!re  are  a  large  number  of  girls  always  in  training 
for  the  Grand  Opera  in  Paris,  who  are  taken  at  the  age 
of  four  years,  and  kept  in  constant  practice  until  they 
reach  womanhood,  when  they  appear  in  })nl)lic.  But 
this  girl  had  shown  extraordinary  genius.  In  her  later 
years  the  celei)rated  dancer,  Marie  Taglioni,  Countess 
de  Voisius,  heai-ing  of  tlu;  new  dancer,  left  her  villa  on 
the  Lake  of  Como,  and  her  })alacc  in  Venice,  to  como 
to  Paris  to  give  the  girl  lessons.  Ibr  improvement 
was  miraculous.  Taglioni  said  slu;  would  renew  the 
triumphs  she  herself  had  won  in  former  days. 


A   FEW   FOOT-LIGHT   FAVORITES.  325 

And  now  sho  glided  upon  the  stage.  The  brilliant 
audience  ceased  their  chatter  as  she  appeared.  The 
occasion  took  the  character  of  Avhat  it  was  afterwards 
called  in  the  newspapers  —  "a  great  solemnity."  Sho 
was  very  young  and  was  just  at  that  period  in  the  life 
of  a  girl  when  her  figure  is  apt  to  be  what  old-fash- 
ioned people  call  raw-boned.  She  was  tall,  thin,  and 
pale.  Her  fiice  was  not  handsome.  Her  form  gave 
no  evidence  of  physical  strength. 

She  was  received  in  a  hush  of  silence.  "  Let  us 
see,"  this  great  audience  seemed  to  say,  "  what  you 
really  can  do  in  this  poetic  art."  Any  one  who  could 
have  connected  sensuality  or  grossness  with  this  girl 
would  have  been  baser  than  a  sybarite  ;  and  yet  her 
dress  was  the  conventional  dress  of  ballet  dancers  — 
short  to  the  calf  of  the  leg  but  thickly  clad  above. 

She  began.  O  Grace,  you  never  found  a  prototype 
till  now  !  O  Painting,  Sculpture,  you  paled  before  this 
supple,  elastic,  firm,  yet  dainty  tread.  At  the  conclu- 
sion of  her  first  movement,  when  with  a  gush  of  sweet 
music  she  sprang  like  a  fawn  to  the  foot-lights,  and  ex- 
tendino;  her  slender  arms  and  delicate  hands  towards 
the  audience,  as  if  to  ask,  "  Come,  what  is  the  ver- 
dict on  me  now?"  a  burst  of  enthusiastic  applause, 
loud  shouts  of  "  Brava  !  "  and  "  Bravissima  !  " 
*'  C'est  magnifique  !  "  waving  of  perfumed  handker- 
chiefs, a  deluge  of  sweet  flowers  formed  the  response. 

The  whole  evening  was  a  series  of  triumphs.  The 
Emperor  and  Empress  sent  an  aid-de-camp  behind  the 
scene  to  ofler  her  the  Imperial  congratulations.  Marie 
Taglioni,  accompanied  by  her  noble  husband,  sought 
the  girl  also,  and  taking  from  her  breast  a  magnificent 
diamond  star,  which  had  been  given  her  in  former 
days  by  the  Emperor  of  Russia,     "Here,"  said  she, 


V 


V 


1-^ 


(320)        TAGLIOM    CONGRATULATING    EMMA    LIVKY, 


A  few'  foot-light  favorites.  327 

"  take   this    the  queen  of  dance,  Marie    Taglioni,    is 
dead  —  long  live  the  queen,  Emma  Livry  !  " 

As  I  passed  out  amongst  the  dense  crowd,  the 
writer  continues,  I  saw  a  woman  of  middle  age,  a;|d 
respectably  dressed,  leaning  against  one  of  the  mar- 
ble columns  in  the  vestibule.  Her  face  was  flushed 
and  she  was  wiping  tears  from  her  eyes. 

"  You  weep.  Madonna?  "  said  a  gentleman  who  was 
passing. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,"  she  replied,  "  but  it  is  with  joy. 
Who  would  not  be  proud  of  such  a  daughter,  and  of 
such  a  tribute  to  her  genius?  " 

There  are  few  favorites  of  the  public  to-day  who 
have  not  fought  their  way  to  the  front  inch  by  inch, 
who  have  not  sacrificed  everything  for  their  art,  toiling 
through  the  day  that  the  work  of  the  night  might 
show  improvement  —  very  few  who  have  not '  served 
years  of  apprenticeship  on  the  stage  before  the  mo- 
ment of  success  arrived.  And  this  has  been  the  rule 
always.  Nell  Gwynne,  the  fish-girl,  whose  beauty 
and  bright  repartee  attracted  the  attention  of  Lacy,  the 
actor,  and  who  peddled  oranges  to  the  audience  before 
she  began  to  amuse  them  on  the  stage,  managed  with- 
out much  trouble,  and  during  a  short  stage  experience, 
to  win  the  heart  of  Charles  II.,  who  made  her  his  mis- 
tress and  retained  her  while  he  lived,  his  parting 
words  to  those  around  his  death-bed  being,  "  See  that 
poor  Nelly  doesn't  starve  ;"  but  Nelly  did  starve.  She 
died  in  poverty  and  left  a  line  of  dukes  to  perpetuate 
her  plebeian  blood  in  royal  veins.  She  died  in 
November,  1687,  in  her  thirty-seventh  year. 

Lola  Montez,  the  pretty  Irish  girl  who  in  her  four- 
teenth year  eloped  with  one  Capt.  James  to  avoid  a 
disagreeable  marriage,  accompanied  him  to  India, 
where  they  got  mutually  tired  of  each  other  and  re- 


328  A    FEW    roOT-LIUIlT    I'AVOinTES. 

turning  to  England  studied  dancing  and  wont  on  the 
stage,  was  another  of  those  fortunate  and  unl'ortunato 
fascinating  women  whose  lives  fade  awaj  fast  and 
Tfho  after  a  brief  hey-day  of  luxuries  lie  down  in  rags 
and  poverty  to  seek  a  needed  rest  that  is  never  broken. 
She  won  the  hearts  of  kings,  led  a  revolution  in 
Poland,  and  finally,  after  being  driven  from  her  Bava- 
rian castle  where,  as  Countess  of  Lansfield  she  had 
ruled,  and  strutting  a  brief  hour  in  London  in  male 
attire,  died  in  this  country  January  17,  18G1.  Her 
ashes  rest  in  Greenwood  Cemetery,  but  she  was  saved 
from  a  pauper's  grave  oidy  through  the  charity  of 
some  friend.  During  her  life  she  had  thrown  away 
millions.  Fallin,  the  husband  of  Maude  Granger,  is 
the  son  of  the  man  with  whom  LolaMontcz  had  her  last 
escapade,  Fallin,  Sr.,  deserting  his  family  in  New 
York  to  accomjiany  Lola  to  San  Francisco.  Her  real 
name  was  Mario  Dolores  Eliza  Rospanna  Gilbert. 

Another  child  of  genius  whom  waywardness  and 
frailty  brought  to  an  early  grave  was  Adelaide  McCord, 
better  known  to  the  world  as  Adah  Isaacs  Menken. 
She  was  born  near  New  Orleans,  June  15,  1835,  and 
when  still  young  went  on  the  stage  as  a  ballet  dancer 
in  one  of  the  theatres  of  the  Crescent  City.  She  had 
been  expelled  from  school,  and  tiring  of  her  native  vil- 
lage, where  she  had  created  a  sensation  by  embracing 
the  Jewish  faith,  she  made  the  journey  to  New  Orleans, 
and  as  I  have  said  went  on  the  stage.  Her  career 
there  was  not  a  very  brilliant  one  until  she  began  l)lay- 
ing  Mazcppa,  the  ])art  with  which  her  name  has  since 
been  identified.  Prior  lo  her  tiin<!  men  had  appearcid 
in  this  role.  Ilcr  first  appearance  was  on  Monday 
night,  Jinie  17,  18(11,  in  the  Green  Street  Theatre, 
New  Yoi-k,  then  umler  the  management  of  ('apt.  John 
B.  Smith.     On  the   liist   att<Mnpt  to  go  up  the  run  the 


A   ITEW   FOOT-LIGHT  FAVORITES.  329 

horse  after  iiuikuiji:  one  turn  fell,  crashino;  tliroii2i;h  the 
scenery  with  the  Menken  on  its  back.  Horse  and  rider 
were  picked  up,  and  after  some  delay  the  ascent  was 
made  amidst  a  great  deal  of  enthusiasm.  The  appear- 
ance of  so  beautiful  a  woman  as  Menken  in  the  scarcity 
of  clothing  that  Mazeppa  requires  created  a  furore, 
and  from  that  time  her  success  was  assured.  She 
fought  spiritedly  in  the  combat  scene,  breaking  her 
sword  and  otherwise  won  the  good  opinion  of  her 
first  audience.  Previous  to  this  she  had  married 
Alexander  Menken,  a  musician  in  Galveston,  but 
by  this  time  also  she  had  obtained  an  Indiana 
divorce.  While  in  New  York  she  met  John  C.  Hee- 
nan,  fresh  from  his  victory  over  Tom  Sayers,  and 
after  a  brief  courtship  married  him.  Another  Indiana 
divorce  soon  dissolved  this  knot,  as  it  did  a  third  time 
in  the  case  of  Orpheus  C.  Kerr  (Robt.  H.  Newell). 
All  this  time  her  fame  was  o-rowino;.  She  Avent  to 
London,  and  after  setting  the  English  metropolis  on 
fire  with  her  beauty  returned  to  New  York,  where  she 
married  James  Barclay,  a  merchant,  in  whose  mansion 
she  and  her  friends  held  such  wild  orgies  that  Barclay 
was  glad  when  she  fled  to  Paris,  where  she  was  stricken 
down  in  the  midst  of  her  mad  career,  in  186(3.  The 
brief  but  expressive  epitaph,  "Thou  knowest,"  is 
carved  upon  her  tomb. 

Mary  Anderson,  the  tragedienne,  is  the  most  phe- 
nomenal success  of  late  years.  She  was  born  July  28, 
1859,  in  Sacramento,  California.  Her  parents  re- 
moved to  Louisville  when  she  was  one  year  and  a  half 
old,  and  there  she  was  educated  in  the  Ursuline  Con- 
vent. She  had  a  lons-ing  to  be  an  actress  from 
her  earliest  years,  and  all  her  readings  tended  in 
the  direction  of  the  stage.  She  was  taken  away  from 
school  at  the  age  of  thirteen,  to  pursue  her  studies  for 


330  A  i'i:\v  rooT-LiciiT  favouites. 

the  profession  to  wljidi  she  seemed  to  be  so  strongly 
inclined.     At  the  age  of  fifteen  she  went  to  Cincinnati 
to    see    Charlotte    Cushman    act.     While    there    she 
called  on  Miss  Cushman,  who  said  she  could  give  her 
only  a  five-minute  audience.     Miss  Anderson  recited 
passages  from  "  Kichard  III.,"    Schiller's   "  Maid  of 
Orleans,"  and  "Hamlet."     She  remained  Avith  Miss 
Cushman  three  hours,  and  the  great  actress  had  such 
confidence  in  her  talents  that  she  told  her  to  study  a 
few  hours  each  day  for  a  year  and  tiien  she  might  go 
on  the  stac^e.     This  Miss  Anderson  did.     An  accident 
of  some  kind  or  other  left  Macaulev's  Theatre  in  Louis- 
ville  with  a  Saturday  night  for  which  there  was  no  at- 
traction.    Macauley  knew  Miss  Anderson's  desire  to 
go   on  the    stage,  and   meeting    her  step-father,    Dr. 
Hamilton  Griffin,  in  the  street,  told  him  the  girl,  who 
was  then    only  sixteen,  might  have  the    theatre  that 
night.     Miss   Anderson    was    overjoyed.     She    chose 
JuHt'l  for  her  debut,  got  a  costume  hurriedly  together 
and  after  one  rehearsal  and  three  days'  preparation,  :ii)- 
peared  before  a  large  audience,  and   made  a  decided 
hit.     This  was  on  November  27,  1875.     Macauley  was 
so  pleased  with  the  debutante  that  he  gave  her  his  first 
open  week  at  starring  terms.     She  then  went  to  St. 
Louis,  in  March,  1870,  and  added  greatly  to  the  repu- 
tation she  had  won  in  her  home  city.     Mr.  John  W. 
Norton    supported  her.     Ben   DcBar  sent  her   to  his 
New  Orleans  Theatre,  and  while  in  the  Crescent  City  she 
was  presented,  by  the  citi/.ens,  with  a  check  for  $500, 
and  the  Washington  artillery    presented    her    with   a 
jewelled  badge  of  the  battalion.     Returning  to  Louis- 
ville airain  she  continued  her  studies  through  the  sum- 
mer,  began  starring  the  following  season,  and  has  l)een 
before  the  public  ever  since.     She  is  a  younglady  of  re- 
markable   personal     })c:mty,    intelligent     and     accom- 


A  FEW  FOOT-LIGHT  FAVORITES.  331 

plishetl,  a  hard   student,  and  one  of  the  noblest  and 
fairest  of  her  sex  that  ever  adorned  the  stage. 

Lotta  Mignon  Crabtree,  another  of  the  very  success- 
ful women  on  the  stage,  and  one  of  the  brightest  sou- 
brettes  that  ever  delighted  a  public,  was  born  at  No. 
750  Broadway,  New  York,  on  November  7,  1847.  In 
1854  her  people  removed  to  California,  and  Lotta 
made  her  first  appearance  on  a  stage  at  a  concert  given 
at  Laport ;  her  second  appearance  was  at  Petaluma,  in 
1858,  when  she  played  Gertrude  in  "The  Loan  of  a 
Lover."  She  starred,  they  say,  for  two  years  as  La 
Petite  Lotta.  Before  she  made  her  appearance  in  New 
York  we  hear  of  her  in  San  Francisco  at  Burt's  New 
Idea  and  Gilbert's  Melodeon  —  concert  saloons  — 
where  Joe  Murphy,  Barnard,  Cotton,  Pest,  Burbank, 
Billy  Sheppard,  Backus  and  other  prominent  minstrels 
were  eniraixod.  The  Worrell  Sisters,  Mao-irie  Moon 
(now  Mrs.  Williamson)  and  Lotta  were  in  the  com- 
pany, and  there  was  great  rivalry  between  them  at  the 
time.  The  theatre  was  crowded  every  night  up  to  the 
close  of  the  first  jDart  in  which  there  was  a  "  walk 
around,"  in  which  the  girls  entered  into  the  liveliest 
kind  of  a  competition.  Each  did  her  utmost  to  out- 
dance the  other.  Each  favorite  had  her  host  of 
admirers  and  the  demonstration  on  the  part  of  the 
audience  was  intense.  After  the  "  walk  around  "  the 
house  became  almost  empty,  showing  that  this  was  the 
attractive  feature.  Lotta  was  very  ambitious,  and 
whenever  she  failed  to  score  a  triumph  she  would 
retire  to  her  dressing-room  and  cry  bitterly.  From 
San  Francisco  her  parents  took  her  to  New  York, 
where  she  gave  her  first  performance  at  Niblo's  Saloon, 
June  1,  1864.  She  wasn't  a  success  in  New  York,  so 
she  went  to  Chicago  and  played  "  The  Seven  Sisters  " 
at  McYicker's.     Fortune  began  to  smile  on  her  there, 


335 


A  FEW  FOOT-LIUllT  TAVOlilTES. 


iuul  her  success  dates  from  this  point.     One  night  dur- 
iu2r    this    cnsrao^oniout    an    unknown     admirer    threw  a 


I.UTTA. 


$300  gohl  watch    and    chain    npon    the    stage.      Lotta 
cannot    sing    any  mon^,  l)iit  she  kicks  as    cutely  as  of 


A   FEW  FOOT-LIGHT   FAVORITES. 


333 


yoro,  dances  neatly,  and  is   as  vivacious  as  a  girl  of  six- 
teen. 

Maggie  Mitchell,  who  has  been  a  great  favorite  ever 
since    she    produced    "  Fanchon "    at    Laura    Keene's 


MAGGIE   MITCHELL. 

Theatre,  June  9,  1862,  was  born  in  New  York  in 
1832,  of  poor  parents.  She  began  to  play  child  parts 
at  the  old  Bowery  and  in  1851  had  advanced  to 
responsible  business.  She  made  a  hit  at  Burton's 
Theatre  as  Julia    in    "  The    Soldier's   Daughter,"    and 


334 


A   FEW   FOOT-LIOUT   FAV0U1TE8. 


then  began  stiirring  in  '<Tho  Fiencli  Spy,"  "  Tho 
Young  Prince,"  and  like  plays,  but  did  nothing  remark- 
able until,  as  I  have  already  said,  slie  made  a  hit  in 
*'Fanchon,"  an  adaptation  of  George  Sands's  novel 
"La  Petite  Fadctte."  Following  tiiis  canio  "  Jano 
Eyre,"  "The  Pearl  of  Savoy,"  and  "  Mignon." 
Miss  Mitchell  has  amassed  a  fortune  by  her  efforts. 
Her  name  oil'  the  stage  is  Mrs.  Paddock,  she  having 


■.«?«'• 


\      A 


EMMA    AnnOTT. 

married  Mr.  Ilcnry  Paddock,  of  (Jlcvchind,    Oiiio,    in 
Troy,  New  York,  October  15,  ISCS. 

Emma  Abbott,  the  finest  of  Ameiican  lyric  artistes, 
after  the  usual  freaks  of  an  ambitious  childhood  and 
the  trials  of  an  operatic;  training  in  ]Milan  and  Paris, 
was  giv(!n  a  London  engagement  by  Mr.  Gye  and 
made  her  debut  at  th(;  Koyal  Italian  Opera,  Covent 
Garden,  on  May  2,   IHUj.     The  debut  was  a  success, 


A   FEW   FOOT-LIGHT   FAVORITES.  335 

and  with  the  congratulation  of  friends,  the  best  wishes 
of  all  who  knew  her,  and  the  predictions  of  the  best 
judges  of  vocal  music  that  she  had  a  brilliant  future 
ahead  of  her,  she  set  out  on  a  tour  of  the  provinces, 
singing  through  EngUmd  and  Ireland  and  everywhere 
winning  the  love  and  applause  of  the  people.  Return- 
ing to  her  own  country  the  artiste  gave  two  seasons  of 
concerts,  and  began  to  sing  light  opera.  She  has 
created  the  role  of  Virginia  in  "  Paul  and  Vu-ginia," 
and  Juliet  III  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  both  which  operas 
she  introduced  here.  Her  repertory  includes,  besides 
the  two  named,  "  Mignon,"  "  Maritana,"  "The 
Bohemian  Girl,"  "Martha,"  "II  Trovatore,"  and 
"  Faust."  She  has  a  sweet,  clear,  crystalline  voice, 
which  she  uses  to  great  effect,  is  a  charming  lady  per- 
sonally, a  careful,  pure,  and  energetic  artiste,  and 
altogether  wholly  deserves  to  be  called,  as  she  is, 
"  Honest  Little  Emma." 

Marion  Elmore,  a  charming  little  soubrette  who  is 
looking  after  Lotta's  laurels,  is  a  native  of  England 
and  has  been  on  the  stage  since  her  third  year,  having 
then  played  Meenie  with  Joe  Jcflerson  in  "  Rip  Van 
Winkle."  She  was  born  in  1860  in  a  tent  on  the  gold 
fields  of  Sandhurst,  Australia.  She  came  to  this 
country  with  Lydia  Tliompson  in  1878,  and  pUiyed  in 
burlesque  until  the  season  of  1881-2  when  she  took 
a  soubrette  part  in  Willie  Edouin's  "  Sparks."  She  is 
now  starring  under  the  management  of  Hayden  &  Davis 
in  "  Chispa,"  a  California  play. 

Edwin  Booth,  the  illustrious  son  of  Junius  Brutus 
Booth,  was  born  at  Belair,  near  Baltimore,  Maryland, 
in  November,  1833.  He  was  his  father's  dresser, 
accompanying  him  on  all  his  tours,  and  receiving  from 
him  lessons  in  histrionism.  On  September  10,  1849, 
he  made  his  first  appearance  at  the  Boston  Museum  as 


33 n  A   FEW   FOOT-LIGHT  FAVORITES. 

T/r.svsW,    ill   "  Kichurd  III.,"  nnd   on  May   22,   1850, 
;il)poaivd  at  the  Airli  Street  Theatre,  Pliihidelpliia,  as 

Wil/ord,  in  the  "  Iron  Chest."  In  1850  he  distin- 
guished himself  by  phiying  "  Kichard  III.,"  at  tho 
Cliathani  Theatre,  New  York,  in  the  phaee  of  his  father, 
who  had  disappointed.  Ilis  first  independent  appear- 
anee  inthe  metropolis,  however,  was  made  on  May  4, 
1857,  as  RicJiard  III.^  at  the  Metropolitan,  afterwards 
the  Winter  Garden  Theatre.  In  1851  he  went  to  Cali- 
fornia and  thence  wandered  to  the  Sandwieh  Islands 
and  Australia  in  1854.  In  1857  he  returned  to  New 
York.  lie  was  known  as  an  actor  of  al)ility,  hut  it 
was  not  until  his  famous  cn2:a<2:ements  at  the  Winter 
Garden  that  he  succeeded  in  making  a  really  profound 
impression  on  tlic  public.  Dining  this  revival  "Ham- 
let" run  one  hundred  nights  and  ]\lr.  Booth  at  once 
stepped  to  a  foremost  position  before  the  public.  Ilis 
disastrous  investment  in  the  theatre  that  bore  his 
name  in  New  York  is  well  known.  It  compelled  him 
to  go  into  bankruptc}'  in  1872,  since  which  time  he 
has  been  the  most  successful  of  American  stars.  He 
has  been  twice  married  —  to  Mary  Devlin,  an  actress 
in  18f;i,  who  died  in  1802,  and  to  Mary  McVickor, 
dauirhtcr  of  J.  II.  jNIcVicker,  of  Chicaijo,  who  died  in 
1881.  His  Hamlet  is  the  finest  interpretation  of  that 
character  on  the  American  stage,  and  this  with  J)(:r- 
iuccio,  in  "  The  Fool's  Revenge,"  and  Bnitus,  are  his 
best  impersonations. 

John  McCullough,  though  born  in  Ireland,  came  to 
this  country  when  very  3'oung.  He  was  poor  and  an 
orphan,  and  })overty  had  been  "  looking  in  at  the  door  " 
of  the  hum))lo  home  where  he  passed  his  boyhood  for 
many  a  year.  Yet  the  tenant  farm  which  liis  father 
held  was  onco  the  pride  of  all  tho  country  round,  and 
the  child's  earliest  recollections  called  to  mmd  a  hap[)y 


A   FEW   FOOT-LIGHT   FAVORITES.  337 

time  which  too  soon,  ahis,  passed  away.  His  mother 
had  died  when  the  son  was  a  mere  hid,  and  misfortunes 
came  not  singly  but  in  hosts  after  that  bereavement. 
Sir  Harvey  Bruce,  the  hmdlord  of  the  estate,  though 
a  kindly  man,  as  Mr.  McCullough  testified,  claimed  his 
legal  rights,  and  all  that  appertained  to  the  estate  held 
by  the  family  was  taken  possession  of  by  law,  and 
father  and  son  driven  out  from  their  home. 

"  How  well  I  recall  the  time,"  said  Mr.  McCullough, 
*'  and  every  scene  and  incident  of  that  eviction  —as  it 
would,  I  suppose,  be  called  now.  I  was  a  boy  of 
about  twelve  years  or  so,  and  the  greatest  trial  to  me 
was  the  sale  of  a  pony  which  I  prized  most  highly.  I 
couldn't  bear  to  part  with  the  pony,  and  Sir  Harvey 
Bruce,  who  saw  my  grief  and  knew  its  cause,  kindly 
arranged  matters  so  that  before  long  I  was  able  to  call 
the  animal  once  more  my  own.  It  was  an  act  of  good- 
ness which,  of  course,  I  have  never  forgotten." 

Not  long  after  the  eviction  the  father  died,  and  the 
boy  was  left  in  the  care  of  an  uncle.  But,  like  thou- 
sands of  othei's,  young  McCullough  hacl  heard  of  the 
land  of  freedom  beyond  the  Atlantic,  and  it  was  not 
long  before  he  decided  to  leave  kindred  and  friends, 
and  seek  a  home  in  America.  With  all  his  earthly 
possessions  in  a  bundle  the  young  lad  landed  at  New 
York,  and  with  characteristic  pluck  and  energy  began 
the  battle  for  existence.  He  followed  various  callin<rs, 
but  soon  felt  within  him  the  desire  to  become  anactor. 
Fortunately  the  foreman  of  a  chair  factory  in  Phila- 
delphia, where  he  was  employed,  sympathized  with  the 
aspirations  of  the  future  actor,  and  often  studied  with 
him  the  great 'Shakespearean  tragedies  in  which  Mc- 
Cullough afterward  attained  such  renown. 

It  was  in  the  winter  of  1857  that  the  young  aspirant 
for  Thespian  honors  first  stood  upon  the  stage  ;  and  he 


3;;8 


A    rtW    FOOT-LIGHT   FAVOIUTES. 


|^^^*»li  ■^tmimim.i'ifiiiti. 


CALLED    LLiUKE    THE    <  linAIN. 

bo<x:in     ill    Philudolphiji    liis    profcs.sioiial    career   at  the 
iminiliccnt  .salary   of    $1    ;i    week.      For  several   ^^easo^s 


A   FEW   FOOT-LIGHT   FAVORITES.  339 

he  acted  the  "  heavy  vilUiin  "  line  in  the  Shakespearean 
drama,  and  made  steady  improvement  in  his  art.  A 
great  event  in  his  career  was  his  engagement  to  sup- 
port the  great  Forrest  in  18G2  ;  for  it  gave  him  oppor- 
tunities which  such  a  man  as  McCullouo;h  was  not  slow 
to  improve.  The  grand  qualities  which  marked 
Forrest's  acting  were  made  the  subject  of  careful  study 
by  the  young  actor,  and  to-day  John  McCullough  is  re- 
cognized everywhere  as  the  successor  to  the  famous 
American  tragedian.  His  career  as  an  actor,  inter- 
rupted only  by  a  brief  managerial  experience  in  San 
Francisco,  has  been  one  of  steadily  increasing  success. 

John  McCullough' s  starring  experience  dates  from 
only  a  few  years  back  ;  yet  his  impersonations,  with 
peerless  Virginius  at  the  head,  have  won  fame  and  for- 
tune in  all  parts  of  the  country,  and  gained  for  him 
also  the  highest  honors  on  the  English  stao;e. 

J.  K.  Emmett,  or  Joe  Emmett,  as  he  is  familiarly 
called  the  world  over,  was  born  in  St.  Louis  on  March 
23,  1841.  He  early  had  a  penchant  for  the  stage, 
and  could  rattle  bones,  play  a  drum  or  do  a  song  and 
dance  on  a  cellar-door  better  than  any  of  his  com- 
panions. He  began  life  as  a  painter,  but  soon  left  the 
pot  and  brush  for  the  stage  of  the  St.  Louis  Bowery, 
where  his  specialty  was  Dutch  "wooden-shoe  busi- 
ness." He  could  sing  finely,  and  was  as  graceful  as  a 
woman.  So  popular  did  he  become  in  his  line  that 
Dan  Brvant  engaged  him  for  his  New  York  house 
m  1866.  Two  seasons  later  Charles  Gayler  wrote 
"  Fritz,"  a  nonsensical  play  without  rhyme  or  reason, 
and  Emmett  opened  with  it  in  Buffalo.  His  success 
was  indifferent  at  first,  but  within  a  short  time  "  Fritz  " 
and  Emmett  became  the  rage,  and  for  fifteen  years  the 
people  have  actually  run  after  this  star.  His  name 
and  play  will  fill  any  theatre  in  the  United  States,  and 


340  A   FEW   FOOT-LIOIIT   FAVORITES. 

in  many  i)lacos  outside  of  the  United  States.  lie  is 
the  great  i)et  of  the  public.  Time  and  again  lias  he 
disappointed  them,  but  it  makes  no  dilference  ;  the 
next  time  he  announces  himself  ready  to  plav  they  are 
there  in  throngs.  Joe  Emnictt  has  friends  the  whole 
world  over,  and  he  is  welcomed  and  admired  every- 
where. 

John  T.  Raymond's  real  name  is  John  T.  O'Brien, 
lie  became  stage-struck  while  clerking  in  a  store,  and 
after  a  brief  amateur  experience  made  his  first  appear- 
ance on  the  ])rofessional  stage  as  Lope::,  in  "  The 
Honeymoon,"  on  June  27,  1853,  and  played  comedy 
with  varying  fortune  until  1874,  Avhen  "The  Gilded 
Age,"  which  had  l)een  dramatized,  was  brought  out  at 
Rochester,  New  York,  on  August  31st,  and  he  made  an 
immense  hit  as  C(jI.  Midherry  Sellers.  Next  to 
Colonel  Sellers,  John  T.  Raj-moud's  enduring  popu- 
larity rests  upon  his  impersonation  oi'  Frrs// ,  (he  Ameri- 
can, in  the  drama  of  that  name,  whicli  he  is  now 
imi)ersonating  throughout  the  country.  In  connection 
with  ])oth  his  best  known  parts  Mr.  Raymond  may  be 
said  to  have  "made"  the  plays  they  are  framed  in. 
Without  them  those  plays  would  be  Hat,  and  in  any 
other  hands  than  his  the  characters  which  relievo  them 
of  that  odium  would  be  insiijid.  It  is  the  actor's  art 
and  personal  magnetism  alone  which  make  them  what 
they  are  —  successes.  '  A  good  story,  whether  it  1)0 
true  or  not,  is  told  about  Raymond  and  John  McCul- 
lough.  The  latter  was  asked  to  ai)pear  as  Ingomar, 
with  Miss  Anderson  as  Parthenia,  at  a  ])enefit  perform- 
ance f(}r  a  friend.  As  an  additional  inducement  the 
beneficiary  asked  Raymon<l  to  play  Polydor.  "  Cw- 
tainly,  with  great  pleasure,"  said  Sellers;  "I  will 
travel  one  thousand  miles  any  time  to  play  Polydor  to 
M<'(Jullough's  Irifjomar,"      The  happy  man  ran  off  to 


A  FEW   FOOT-LIGHT   FAVORITES.  341 

tell  his  good  fortune  to  McCuIlough  ;  but  the  trage- 
dian, in  his  deepest  Virginius  voice,  answered  him: 
"  No,  sir,  never,  never  again  !  Once  and  out."  The 
explanation  of  Mac's  refusal  to  have  Raymond  in  the 
cast  is  o-lven  as  follows  :  — 

It  seems  that  at  a  certain  benefit  in  Virginia  City, 
"  Ingomar  "  was  the  play,  Mr.  McCuUough  sustaining 
the  title  role  and  Mr.  Raymond  played  Pohjdor.  Poly- 
dor^  it  will  be  remembered,  is  the  old  Greek  duffer 
who  has  a  mortgage  on  Myron's  real  estate,  and  presses 
for  payment  in  hopes  to  get  Partlienia' s  hand  in  mar- 
riage. The  performance  went  beautifully,  and  the 
applause  was  liberal,  for  McCuUough  was  playing  his 
best.  Raymond  was  the  crookedest  and  most  miserly 
of  Poly  dors,  and  the  savage  intensity  he  threw  into  his 
acting  surprised  all  who  imagined  he  could  only  play 
light  comedy.  All  went  more  than  well  until  Ingomar 
offered  himself  us  a  slave  to  Polydor  in  payment  of 
Myron^s  little  account.  "What,  you?"  screamed 
Polydor,  and,  apparently  overcome  by  the  thought, 
he  "  took  a  tumble,"  and  fell  forward  upon  Ingomar. 
Ingomar  stepped  l)ack  in  dismay,  when  Polydor,  on  all 
fours,  crept  nimbly  between  his  sturdy  legs  and  tried 
to  climb  up  on  his  back.  The  audience  "  took  a  tum- 
ble," and  the  roof  quivered  and  the  walls  shook  with 
roars  of  laughter.  "D — n  you,"  groaned  Ingomar, 
sotto  voce,  "if  I  only  had  you  at  the  wings?"  But 
Pohjdor  nimbly  eluded  his  grasp,  and,  knocking  right 
and  left  the  dozen  supes,  who  were  on  as  the  army,  he 
skipped  to  the  front  of  the  stage  and  climbed  up 
out  of  reach  of  the  projecting  mouldings  of  the  pros- 
cenium. Here  he  clung,  and,  to  make  matters 
worse,  grinned  cheerfully  at  the  pursuers  he  had 
escaped,  and  rapidly  worked  the  string  of  a  trick  wig, 
the  long  hair  of  which  flapped  up  and  down  in  the 


342 


A   FEW    FOOT-LIGHT  FAVORITES. 


most  ludicrous  fashion.  It  was  inipossiblo  for  the  play 
to  proceed,  and  the  curtain  was  rung  down,  leaving 
PoJydor  still  on  his  lofty  perch,  while  the  uudiencc 
laughed  and  shouted  itself  hoarse.  And  this  is  the 
reason  why  Mr.  IMcCulIoiigii  said,  "  No,  sir.  never 
airain  !  "  to  Mr.  Eavniond's  offer. 


FAY  TEMPLETON  IN  "  niEEEE  TAYEOU. 

1  may  add  ll»,at  among  tlic}()UMg  pcoi)](!  of  the  stage 
who  are  })ossessed  of  that  personal  magnetism  tiiat 
makes  them  popular,  is  Fay  Tem[)leton,  who  is  not 
only  pretty,  but  thoroughly  original. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 


CHINESE    AND    JAPANESE    THEATRICALS. 

If  the  Chinese  must  go  they  will  have  to  close  up 
the  large  theatres  in  San  Francisco  owned  and  con- 
trolled by  Celestial  managers.  In  these  temples  of 
the  almond-eyed  Thespis  extraordinary  plays  are  en- 
acted running  through  months  and  even  years,  in  a 
to-be-continued  style,  for,  the  Chinese  dramatist,  Avho 
never  writes  anything  but  tragedy  of  the  wildest  and 
most  harrowing  kind,  always  begins  with  the  birth  of 
his  hero  or  heroine  and  does  not  let  the  merest  mcident 
pass  until  his  or  her  friends  are  ready  to  sit  down  to  a 
feast  of  roast  pig  and  rice  by  the  side  of  the  principal 
character's  grave.  The  dramas  are  mainly  historical, 
and  many  a  Chinaman  who  starts  in  to  see  a  first-class 
play  of  the  average  length  is  on  his  way  back  to  China 
in  a  cofiin  or  box  with  his  cue  neatly  folded  around 
him  for  a  burial  robe,  long  before  the  last  act  of  the 
drama  is  reached.  So,  too,  the  star  actors  frequently 
die  before  they  have  time  to  finish  the  play.  I  don't 
know  that  any  American  has  ever  had  the  patience 
to  wait  for  the  denouement  of  a  Chinese  drama,  but 
to  the  saffron-skinned,  horse-hair-surmounted  and 
slanting-eyed  citizen  of  San  Francisco,  his  theatre  is  a 
place  next  in  importance  to  the  Joss  House  or  temple, 
and  when  he  once  buys  his  season  ticket  for  a  show,  he 
sticks  to  it  with  a  pertinacity  that  would  put  an  ordi- 
nary glue  or  cement  advertisement  to  the  blush.  It  is 
the  same,  too,  when  they  patronize  a  theatre  in  which  the 

(343) 


344  CIIINESK    AM)    JAPANESE    TIIEATIlfCALS. 

suri-ouiuliiigs  and  language  arc  Englisli  ;  once  in  their 
scats,  they  stay  —  forgetting  even  to  go  out  between 
the  acts  for  an  opera-glass  or  a  bottle  of  pop. 

But  to  return  to  the  Chinese  theatre.  Its  interior 
dillers  very  little  from  the  interior  of  the  places  of 
amusement  frequented  b}^  his  American  brother.  The 
general  contour  and  arrangement  of  the  auditorium  is 
pretty  much  the  same.  The  men  sit  together  on 
benches  partitioned  olf  into  sinirle  seats  in  the  lower 
portion  of  the  house,  or  pit,  with  their  little  round 
hats  on,  and  their  pipes  or  cigars  in  their  mouths  ;  the 
ladies,  who  are  not  allowed  into  the  male  portion  of  the 
auditorium,  have  galleries  for  themselves  whence  they 
look  down  upon  the  actions  of  their  male  friends  be- 
low. Everywhere  except  on  the  stage  quiet  and  the 
utmost  serenity  prevail,  no  person  in  the  audience 
moving  a  hand,  raising  a  foot,  or  opening  a  lip,  even 
when  the  villain  is  cut  into  ribbons  by  the  Sunday- 
school  hero  ;  and  at  no  stage  of  the  performance  does 
the  slightest  manifestation  of  delight  or  disapproba- 
tion come  from  the  patient  and  enduring  on-looker. 
In  this  respect  John  Chinamen  has  neglected  to  take 
a  lesson  from  his  American  cousin,  or  to  acquire  the 
character  of  the  howling  short-haired  <rentlemen  who 
apf)theosize  Dennis  Kearney  and  think  there  is  no  better 
worshipping  place  in  the  world  than  "  the  sand  lots." 

The  largest  Chinese  theatre  in  San  Francisco  is  on 
Washington  Street  and  was  opened  in  l.S7i).  Its 
auditorium  is  almost  a  copy  of  the  best  theatres 
of  the  large  cities  of  the  country.  Its  audience 
is  seated  and  separated  in  tlie  manner  1  iiave  de- 
scribed, and  their  behavior  is,  in  accordance  with 
the  custom  of  their  country,  (juiet  and  respectful. 
The  stage  of  the  theatre,  though,  is  a  eiiriosilv- 
There   is   no  curtain,   and    but   one    scene  that  never 


ClllNESIl   AMD   JAtANfiSE   l-HEATIlICALg.  345 

changes.  On  the  side  of  the  stage  —  or  prosce- 
ninni — long  slips  of  colored  paper  with  Chinese 
characters  on  them  are  huno;  —  the  ada<>'es  and  axioms 
of  what  is  familiarly  known  as  tea-chest  literature  — 
and  numerous  multi-colored  lanterns  shed  their  radi- 
ance around  the  place.  At  the  back  of  the  stage  sit 
several  musicians  with  tom-toms,  cymbals,  fiddles,  and 
divers  other  instruments  all  of  wonderful  construction 
and  with  frightful  capacity  for  setting  anybody  but  a 
Chinaman  crazy.  These  musicians  seem  to  be  as  im- 
IDortant  elements  in  the  action  and  meaning  of  the 
play  as  the  actors  themselves  are.  As  soon  as  the  per- 
formance begins  they  immediately  tune  up,  and  from  that 
on  until  the  show  is  over  they  never  give  the  audience 
or  the  music  a  single  rest.  The  play  usually  begins  at 
five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  and  continues  until  two 
the  following  morning,  so  it  will  be  readily  understood 
that  the  Chinese  musician  has  a  pretty  wide  scope  for 
his  genius,  while  the  Cliinese  audience  must  be  more 
than  mortal  to  stand  both  the  music  and  the  actors  for 
some  hours  at  a  stretch.  The  actors  make  themselves 
as  hideous  as  possible,  employing  wigs  and  long  beards 
with  plenty  of  paint  to  disguise  themselves.  They 
stalk  and  stam[)  around  in  a  manner  highly  suggestive 
of  the  English-speaking  "  scene-eater,"  and  there  is 
a  jjreat  deal  of  stabbino;  and  killino; — thunder  and 
blood,  so  to  speak  —  which  is  wasted,  as  the  audience 
does  not  seem  to  rise  to  the  enthusiasm  of  the  occa- 
sion and  there  are  no  "  gallery  gods"  to  help  bring 
the  house  down.  While  the  actors  are  shoutino;  loud- 
est,  the  musicians,  all  of  whom  seem  to  be  playing 
different  tunes,  are  workins:  hardest  and  the  din  and 
discord  of  a  supremely  grand  moment  of  Chinese 
tragedy  are  something  horrible  to  hear  and  simply 
torturesome  to  endure.     Boys  or  young  men  play  the 


340  CHINESE    AND   JAPANESE    THEATRICALS. 

female  parts  as  Avas  the  custom  on  the  English  stage 
in  the  time  of  Elizabeth.  There  is  no  levity  in  the 
performance,  no  prancing  or  dancing,  nothing  hut  the 
utmost  severity  and  solemnity,  Avhich  leaves  me  in 
doul)t  whether  the  Ciiincsc  go  to  the  theatre  to  he 
amused  or  arc  compelled  l)y  some  law  of  their  country 
or  religion  to  do  so. 

The  property-room  of  a  Chinese  theatre  is  a  very 
queer  concern,  lilled  up  Avith  lanterns,  old  clothes, 
spears,  etc.,  hut  the  most  extraordinary  feature  of  the 
place  is  the  quantity  of  eata1)lcs  that  liiid  their  way 
into  the  room  and  down  the  throats  of  the  performers. 
That  most  delicious  morsel,  roast  pig,  of  whose  dis- 
covery by  the  Celestials  diaries  Lamb  has  written  so 
charmingly,  occupies  a  prominent  place  on  the  board, 
and  is  frc(iuenllv  attacked  by  the  actors,  wlio  api)ear 
to  come  oft'  the  stage  as  hungry  as  six-day  go-as-you- 
please  pedestrians  are  when  they  leave  the  track. 
"When  the  Chinese  actor  is  not  acting  or  i)utting  on  his 
costume  you  may  dei)end  upon  it  that  he  is  eatiug. 
This  histrionic  peculiarity  is  strongly  marked  among 
the  descendants  of  IIo-Fi,  who  if  they  are  not  good 
tragedians  have  tirst-class  ai)[)(^tites  and  stomachs 
whoso  capacity  is  not  measured  by  three  meagre  meals 
a  day. 

A  correspondent  writing  from  Yokohama  gives  an 
idea  of  the  amusements  served  u|)  in  the  Japanese 
capital  by  its  enterprising  theatrical  managers.  The 
Japanese,  says  this  writer,  are  a  theatre-going  i)cople, 
and  their  taste  is  cat(U'ed  unto  continually.  Whether 
the  managers  accumulate  riches  I  know  not,  but  theat- 
rical amusements  are  provided  for  the  wants  aii<l  means 
of  all  classes.  At  the  first-class  establishment  is  a 
revolving  stage,  upon  which  is  placed  the  scenery  and 
properties  devoted  to   the  play  on  the  boards.     The 


CHINESE    AND    JAPANESE    THEATRICALS.  347 

orchestra  occupy  the  left-hand  side  of  the  stage,  or 
rather  they  are  phxced  in  an  elevated  pen  at  the  left  of 
the  stage  floor.  The  revolving  part  of  the  business  is 
about  fifteen  feet  from  the  foot-lights,  the  intervening 
space  being  permanent.  The  wings  are  not  elaborate, 
and  not  much  machinery  is  employed  to  work  up 
eflfects.  The  inevitable  trap  is  utilized  on  this  stage, 
it  being  the  only  place  that  boasts  of  the  improve- 
ment. The  actors  at  this  theatre  are  of  the  first  rank, 
and  their  dresses  are  gorgeous  in  the  extreme.  "  Re- 
gardless of  expense"  must  be  their  motto;  and  here 
are  produced  all  the  famous  plays  known  to  the  na- 
tives, they  being  all  of  national  significance. 

The  Japanese  are  patriotic  in  their  instincts,  and  do 
not  run  after  strange  representations  with  which  to 
amuse  themselves.  Everything  on  the  board  is  in- 
tensely Japanese  —  descriptive  of  their  fables  and 
romances,  as  well  as  reproducing  actual  episodes  in 
the  history  of  the  empire.  To  the  stranger  who  is 
alien  to  the  language  their  plays  are  first-class  panto- 
mimes only,  though  one  can  but  accord  the  actors  rare 
dramatic  ability.  I  must  say,  however,  that  the  style 
affected  in  their  stage  step  is  something  too  awfully 
too  too  for  anything.  The  poetry  of  motion  is  a  dif- 
ferent affiiir  here  from  what  is  considered  the  correct 
thing  elsewhere.  Keene  or  Billy  Emerson  could, 
either  of  them,  get  a  new  kink  in  a  stage  walk  if  they 
could  study  Japanese  methods  a  while.  It  costs 
thirty  cents  to  enter  the  temples  of  dramatic  art  —  that 
is,  to  be  in  the  place  for  the  upper  tendom,  the  gal- 
lery—  or  dress  circle,  it  may  be  called  —  which  runs 
on  both  sides  of  the  house,  as  well  as  on  the  end  front- 
ino;  the  stao;e.  This  o-allery  is  about  five  feet  wide, 
and  is  entered  from  the  passage-way  running  along  it 
through  openings  in  the  partition  without  doors.     It 


CHINESK    AND    JAPANESE   THEATRICALS.  349 

is  divided  into  spaces  of  five  feet  or  more  by  placing  a 
round  piece  of  timber  of  say  two  inches  in  diameter 
from  the  gallery  front  and  the  back  of  it.  The  front 
is  elevated  above  the  floor  about  fifteen  inches  only, 
as  the  occupants  are  expected  to  sit  upon  their  haunches 
on  the  matted  floor.  Between  acts  tea  is  served  to 
any  who  will  buy,  and  smoking  is  allowed  all  over  the 
house  during  the  play.  The  body  of  the  theatre  is 
supplied  with  benches  without  backs  for  the  accommo- 
dation of  the  audience. 

There  is  no  sharp  practice  in  the  way  of  reserved 
seats  in  Japanese  theatres.  Neither  is  there  necessity 
to  iro  outside  for  a  clove  or  browned  coflee.  When 
once  seated  you  are  at  your  ease,  not  having  to  draw 
yourself  up  for  any  other  fellow.  The  second-grade 
places  are  of  a  cheaper  order,  where  one  can  sit  on  the 
floor,  there  being  no  seats,  or  stand  upon  the  ground, 
there  being  no  floor,  the  earth  doing  duty  in  that  re- 
crard.  One  cent  and  a  half  and  two  cents  and  a  half 
give  the  grades  of  the  establishments.  They  are  all, 
best  as  well  as  inferior,  lighted  with  the  domestic-made 
candle,  and  when  the  original  dips  of  our  grand- 
mothers are  remembered,  the  kind  of  a  candle  used  is 
described.  The  candles  smoke  as  well  as  the  audience. 
There  is  a  large  stock  of  amusement  to  be  had  in  a 
one  and  a  half  cent  concern,  that  is,  if  you  are  not 
particular  about  the  testhetic  nature  of  the  surround- 
ings, and  do  not  carry  with  you  a  cultivated  musical 
ear.  These  places  do  not  carry  on  their  paj^-roU  any 
large  number  of  star  actors,  or  a  numerous  stock 
compan}^  and  they  do  not  devote  much  time  to  the 
rehearsal  of  parts,  as  it  is  the  duty  of  the  prompter- to 
flit  from  one  actor  to  another  with  the  lines  of  the  dia- 
logue in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other  a  stifi"  paper  lan- 
tern.    Bending  low,  he  reads  in  a  tone  readily  caught 


350  CHINESE    AND    JAPANESE    THEATRICALS. 

by  the  actor  the  lines,  which  are  duly  repeated,  while 
the  jn-()inptcr  "  is  doing  his  duty"  by  the  next  one. 
It  15  one  of  the  most  interesting  features  of  a  play, 
this  constant  ilitting  of  the  prompter.  If  any  fellow 
about  the  establishment  earns  his  pay,  the  prompter  is 
the  man. 

There  are  very  many  side-shows  to  attract  the  pleas- 
ure-seeker, all  of  them  being  within  the  compass  of 
the  huml)lest,  the  charge  being  from  one-half  cent  to 
one  and  one-half  cents.  In  these  places  are  witnessed 
juggling  tricks  of  real  merit,  and  top-spinning  that  is 
a  bewilderment  to  the  looker-on.  Toj)s  of  all  sizes 
are  spun  with  the  aid  of  a  string,  and  made  to  revolve 
by  the  action  of  the  hands  only.  An  expert  will 
throw  his  tc>p  from  him,  and  l)y  the  action  of  the  string 
as  it  unwinds  draw  it  back  so  that  it  is  cau<rht  in  his 
hand  —  of  course,  without  it  having  touched  the 
ground.  An  unopened  fan  is  then  taken  in  the  other 
hand,  and  the  top  is  placed  upon  one  of  its  sides  and 
spun  along  it.  Then  the  fan  is  opened,  and  the  top 
continues  to  spin  along  its  edge  to  its  farther  side,  and 
along  it  until  the  hand  is  reached,  when  up  it  runs  on 
the  arm  to  the  shoulder,  and  across  the  back  and  down 
the  other  arm,  on  to  tlie  fan  again.  Then  it  will  bo 
tossed  into  the  air  and  caught  upon  one  of  the  corners 
of  the  opened  fan,  from  which  it  is  tossed  again  and 
again  into  the  air  and  caught  as  it  descends.  It  is 
wonderful  the  way  they  can  manijjulate  a  top.  I  have 
seen  tiiem  take  a  large-sized  one,  having  a  s])indIo  by 
which  it  was  made  to  rotate,  and  by  simply  jjlacing  the 
spindle  between  the  palms  of  the  hands,  and  drawing 
one  hand  back  while  advancing  the  other  a  numl)er  of 
times  it  attained  sufficient  velocity,  when  it  was  taken 
from  the  tal)lc  on  which  it  was  spinning  and  a  turn  taken 
around  the  spindle  with  a  string  that  was  pendant  from 


CHINESE    AND    JAPANESE    THEATRICALS. 


351 


a  paper  lantern  hanging  liigh  up  against  the  ceiling  oC 
the  building.  Up  wont  the  top  into  the  lantern,  which 
opened  into  the  shape  of  an  uni])rella,  and  a  wealth  of 
festoons    of  bright-colored  tissue  paper  descended  from 


c 

o 

c 

w 

Ph 
W 
W 

K 


it  all  about  the  stage.  Those  who  witnessed  Little 
All  Right  and  the  troupe  of  Japanese  acrobats  that  ex- 
hibited their  tricks  years  ago  in  the  United  States  will 
remember    the    many    surprising    feats    done     by    them. 


352 


CHINESE    AND    JAPANESE    THEATRICALS. 


What  they  paid  $1  for  seeing  can  l)e  witnessed  in 
Yokohama  in  the  oi)en  air  for  just  what  one  is  pleased 
to  contrihutc,  or  under  cover  for  from  one  to  three 
cents. 


> 


J 


MINNIE    MADDERN. 

There  arc  no  inanilestatioiis  of  applause,  no  cat-calls 
or  signs  of  impatiimeo.  In  the  })laces  visited  by  even 
the  poorest,  where  the  accommodations  are  of  the 
rudest,  perfect  order  is  observed,  and  every  one  seems 
to  be  possessed  of  a  patient  quietness  that  is  amazing. 
They  exiiihit  a  deference  for  the  comfoit  of  th(Mr  fel- 
lows that  is  worthy  of  imitation.  One  great  reason, 
pcrha[)s,  that  the  .i)eoplc  are  so  gentle  and  accom- 
modating, one  to  the  other,  may  be  found  in  their 
com[)lete  sol)riely.  No  exhibition  of  drunken  rowdy- 
ism is  to  be  seen,  and  yet  the  entire  people,  women  as 
well  as  men,  drink  of  the  national  beverage,  "  sake," 
a  liquor  distilled  from  rice.  As  there  is  no ''taran- 
tula juice"  in  its  composition,  its  inebriating  (juality 
is  rather  mild.  Its  clfect  upon  the  brain  is  not  lasting, 
ucither  is  it  injurious. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 


OPERA   AND    OPERA    SINGERS. 


Ferdinand  Pal  mo,  who  died  in  New  York  in  Sep- 
tember, 1869,  as  poor  as  the  proverbial  church 
mouse,  was  the  father  of  Italian  opera  in  this  country. 
He  was  born  in  Naples  in  1785  and  came  to  America 
when  twenty-five  years  old,  settling  in  Richmond,  Vir- 
ginia. After  remaining  there  six  years  he  moved  to 
New  York,  but  not  proving  successful  in  a  business 
venture  returned  to  Virginia.  After  paying  two  visits 
to  Europe  he  again  tried  New  York  and  built  a  cafe, 
which  he  run  until  1835  when  he  opened  a  saloon  cham- 
ber, which  was  afterwards  converted  by  him  into 
Palmo's  Opera  House,  and  m  which  Italian  opera  was 
for  the  first  time  presented  to  the  American  people 
on  February  2,  1844.  The  opening  opera  was  "  II 
Puritani,"  and  during  the  season  the  best  operas  of 
the  day  were  produced.  The  venture,  however,  did 
not  prove  a  financial  success.  Palmo  was  reduced  to 
poverty.'  With  the  assistance  of  friends  he  opened  a 
small  hotel,  and  after  nine  months  became  cook  for  a 
Broadway  restaurant  "  where,"  says  a  wi-iter,  "  he 
might  often  have  been  seen  wearing  his  white  apron  and 
square  cap  and  engaged  in  preparing  the  delectable 
dishes  for  which  that  establishment  was  noted."  The 
death  of  his  employer  threw  Palmo  out  of  work  and 
reduced  him  to  straitened  circumstances.  As  he 
was  too  old  to  do  anything,  members  of  the  dramatic 
and  musical  professions  met  and  organized  a  Palmo 
"^  (353) 


354  OrEHA    AND    OPKKA    SINCKRS. 

Fund,  each  person  in  tlic  organization  agreeing  to  pay 
$13  per  year  toward  the  okl  man's  relief,  and  he  lived 
eoralbrtal)ly  on  this  fnnd  until  the  day  of  his  death. 
It  is  a  curious  fact  that  no  musical  or  theatrical  ce- 
lebrities attended  his  funeral. 

Forty  years  have  effected  a  great  change  in  the  tasto 
of  the  people  of  the  United  States.  Italian  opera 
now  is  one  of  tJie  best  paying  things  in  the  musical  or 
dramatic  market.  Announce  a  season  of  grand  opera 
in  any  city,  and  from  that  time  on  until  the  date  of 
opening  the  manager  of  the  theatre  in  which  the  sea- 
son is  to  be  held  will  be  bothered  by  applicants  for 
places.  Douljle  and  treble  the  ordinary  price  of  ad- 
mission is  asked,  but  that  makes  no  diUbrence  ;  every- 
body seems  desirous  of  patronizing  Italian  opera,  and 
the  extra  price  is  paid  without  grumbling.  These  high 
prices  of  admission  must  be  paid  l)ecause  it  costs  a  vast 
amount  of  money  to  run  Italian  o[)ora,  transporting 
large  companies  long  distances,  paying  immense  sala- 
ries, and  shouldering  the  enormous  expenses  of  equip- 
ping an  opera  organization  and  mounting  the  pieces. 

It  is  a  great  sight  to  sec  an  opera  company  travel- 
ing. The  principal  singers  must  have  their  sleeping- 
cars  and  dining  coaches,  those  beneath  them  put  up 
with  sleeping  berths  merely,  while  the  members  of  the 
chorus  are  crowded  like  emigrants  into  an  ordinary 
coach,  from  out  Avhich  roll  odors  of  fried  garlic  and 
Italian  sausage.  When  tiieir  destination  is  reached 
the  ])rima  doniK;  liiid  carriaGfes  in  wait  ins;  to  drive 
them  to  the  best  hotel  in  the  place.  Tiie  secondary 
artists  may  also  have  carriages,  but  they  go  to  minor 
hotels,  "while  the  chorus  jjcople  are  left  to  themselves 
to  seek  cheap  Ijoarding-houses  and  do  the  best  they 
can.  Wagon  loads  of  trunks  follow  the  carriages  and 
wagon  loads  go  to  the  theatre.     Sometimes  there  is 


OPERA    AND    OPERA    SINGERS.  355 

scenery.  For  instance,  Mapleson  always  carries  the 
scenery  for  "Aida,"  even  to  big  cities  where  there  are 
first-class  theatres.  Hundreds  of  pieces  of  baggage 
are  left  at  the  hotels,  and  hundreds  at  the  theatre. 
Immediately  the  trou[)e  arrives  the  principal  artists  fall 
into  the  hands  of  the  interviewer,  and  as  the  tenor  and 
the  prima  donna  and  the  others, too,  are  tired,  the  news- 
paper man  gets  very  little  to  write  about  unless  he  runs 
across  such  a  good  fellow  as  Campanini,  or  happens  to 
meet  Charles  Mapleson,  if  it  is  Her  Majesty's  Com- 
pany. 

Then  on  the  followino;  mornins:  comes  the  rehearsal. 
The  triumph  is  the  usual  sequel.  All  the  young  ladies 
are  immediately  "  mashed  "  on  the  tenor,  and  would 
willingly  follow  the  example  of  some  New  York 
beauties,  who  went  as  a  committee  of  the  whole  behind 
the  scenes  one  night  to  place  a  wreath  of  bay  leaves 
on  the  head  of  their  favorite  warbler,  only  they  have 
amateur  tenors  of  their  own  by  their  sides  who  might 
not  relish  such  a  display  of  their  appreciation  of  good 
music. 

While  her  Majesty's  Opera  Company  was  having  a 
season  at  the  Academy  of  Music,  New  York,  two 
years  ago,  a  newspaper  man  interviewed  Col.  Maple- 
son, the  impresario,  and  took  a  look  at  the  interior  of 
the  establishment,  exploring  many  of  its  mysteries. 
In  the  course  of  the  conversation  he  asked  :  — ■ 

"  How  many  rehearsals  do  you  give  a  new  opera?  " 

*'Ah,  now  lean  tell  you  something  that  the  public 
know  nothing  of.  A  man  of  the  crutch-and-toothpick 
school,  after  I've  put  on,  let  me  say  'Aida'  at  a  cost  of 
$10,000,  will  come  to  me  and  say,  'Aw,  I've  seen 
"Aida"  twice  ;  when  are  you  going  to  give  us  some- 
thing new?  '  And  the  poor  manager  has  to  smile  and 
mount  something  equivalent  to  it  immediately.     Ke- 


OPEKA    AND    OPERA    SINGERS. 


O 


0 
y^ 

o 


hearsuls  I  P^/r  example  'i'liis  is  tlio  sixth  fuil-l):iii(l 
rchearsiil  for  the  orchestra  uh)iic  —  (Irilliiig  for  two 
and    three    hours  —  to    f,'et    the    li^'ht    and    shade  of    the 


OPERA   AND   OPERA   SINGERS.  357 

pianissimo  and  forte.  After  some  more  band  rchccar- 
sals  —  the  slight  alterations  in  the  score  by  Arditi  kept 
four  copyists  at  work  all  last  night  and  until  day- 
break —  the  principal  artists  rehearse  about  twenty 
times  with  the  piano  ;  then  comes  a  full  rehearsal  with 
band,  the  artists  seated  all  around  the  stage  on  chairs  ; 
then  the  property-man  has  to  have  his  rehearsal.  The 
carpenters  now  come  in  for  their  rehearsals,  with 
scene  framers,  etc.  Then  comes  the  first  stage  re- 
hearsal, with  everybody  without  the  scenery,  and  then 
another  with  the  scenery ;  later  on  again  with  the 
properties  and  the  business,  and  then  it  is  fit  for  public 
representation.  Then  a  languid  swell  will  tell  me  he 
has  seen  the  opera  twice,  and  will  want  to  know  when 
I  am  going  to  give  somethino;  new." 

An  attendant  here  brought  the  colonel  his  letters, 
over  which  he  hastily  glanced. 

"  Here  is  a  letter  from  the  Prince  of  Wales,"  he 
exclaimed,  showing  me  the  note,  dated  Hotel  Bristol, 
Paris,  October  22d.  "  It's  in  reference  to  his  omni- 
bus box  at  Her  Majesty's.  While  I  am  free  for  a 
moment  from  my  den,  just  take  a  tour  of  this  place. 
I'll  act  as  guide,  philosopher  and  friend.  I'd'like  you 
to  see  what's  going  on,  and  to  let  the  public  know 
what  a  herculean  task  it  is  to  run  old  operas,  let  alone 
producing  new  ones." 

We  strode  across  the  stage  and  plunged  into  a  cav- 
ernous passage,  to  emerge  on  a  staircase  and  into  a 
property-room. 

"What  dummy  is  this?"  demanded  the  colonel, 
administering  a  kick  to  the  decapitated  form  of  a  bux- 
omly-proportioned  female,  "  and  where' s  the  head?  " 

It  is  the  "  Rigoletto  "  corpse. 

We  took  a  peep  into  the  armory,  which,  from  its 
aroma  of  oil,  painfully  reminded  me  of  my  ocean  ex- 


358  OPERA    AND    OPEUA    SINGERS. 

perieiico.  Here  the  "  Talismano  "  holincts,  Oriental 
of  design  ;  here  the  liead-pieccs  worn  in  the  "  Puri- 
tani,"  reminding  one  of  Cromwell's  crop-eared  knaves  ; 
here  the  Italian  so  well  known  in  "  Trovatore." 
Morions  and  breastplates  and  shields  were  here,  and 
matchlocks  of  ancient  pattern,  with  guns  of  the  Martini- 
Henry  design. 

"  Do  you  see  these  guns?  "  suddenly  exclaimed  the 
colonel.  "  I  bought  four  hundred  of  them  for  live 
.shillings  a  jjiece  at  an  auction.  They  had  been  sold 
by  an  English  lirm  to  the  French  government  during 
the  Franco-Prussian  war  at  a  fabulous  price.  One 
night,  at  Dublin,  we  were  doing  '  Der  Freischut/,' 
and  poor  Titjens  was  standing  at  the  wing.  One  of 
these  guns  was  loaded  with  a  little  i)owder  ramme(l 
down  by  a  piece  of  paper  only.  When  fired,  the  lock 
l>lew  ofl",  and  a  piece  of  it  went  right  through  Titjens's 
dress,  sticking  in  the  wall  behind  her.  AVhat  chance 
had  the  French  with  such  wea})ons  in  their  hands?  " 

From  the  armory  we  proceeded  to  the  barber  shop, 
where  "  Mignon,"  "Aida,"  "Traviata,"  and  "  Lucia" 
wigs,  curls,  moustaches  and  beards  showed  grizzly  on 
shelves.  A  French  l)arber  was  enirai^ed  in  titifving 
Campanini's  wig  for  "  Linda,"  and  he  expatiated  on 
its  wonderful  a[)proach  to  nature  with  all  the  chic  of 
his  very  expressive  mother  tongue. 

\n  one  of  the  wardrobes  were  the  costumes  for  half 
a  dozen  operas,  each  opera  folded  away  and  labelled. 
Colonel  Ma[)l(!Son  has  about  two  thousand  costumes 
Avith  him,  and  his  packing-cases,  each  the  size  of  a 
small  a[)artment,  number  nearly  one  hundred.  AVc 
found  the  Nilsson  Hall  full  of  newly  painted  scenery, 
and  the  Hies  thronged  with  carpenters.  The  scene 
painter's  room  was  devoted  lo  "Aida,"  while  the 
stage-man's  room  was  choked   fidl  of  flotsam  and  jet- 


OPERA    AND    OPERA    SINGERS.  359 

gam,  from  the  lamp  of  a  Vestal  Virgin  to  the  statuette 


PATTT. 


of  Cupid  in  purihus  naturalibus,  and  from  a  loaded 
pistol  to  a  roleau  of  stage  gold. 

*'The  stage  brass  band  is  rehearsing  in  the  lower 


360  OrKKA    AM)    Ol'KRA    SINGERS. 

regions,  the  principal  artistes  doing  '  Trovatore  '  in 
the  first  saloon,  the  chorus  rehearsing  *  Marta '  in  the 
second  saloon,  the  orchestra  on  their  own  ground 
rehearsing  *Aida,'  the  ballet  at  work  in  a  large  room, 
and  a  set  of  coryphees  blazing  away  in  a  distant 
corner.     Listen  !  " 

In  the  first  saloon  were  the  "Trovatore"  party, 
lounging  around  a  piano,  presided  at  by  Bisaccia,  the 
accompanist  to  the  company.  Mile.  Adini,  nee  Chap- 
man, the  Leonora^  was  warbling  right  under  the  mous- 
tache of  her  husljand,  Aramhuro,  the  tenor  who  was 
frantic  because  Mapleson  refused  £800  to  release  him 
from  his  engagement ;  while  Del  Puente  was  slapping 
his  leg  vigorously  with  his  walking-cane,  as  he  occasion- 
ally burst  in  with  a  superb  note  in  harmony  with  the 
score.  Madame  Lablache  leant  with  her  cll)Ows  upon 
the  bar,  and  knowing  every  square  inch  of  a  role  she 
had  performed  from  St.  Petersburg  to  Gotham,  turned 
from  the  perusal  of  a  newspaper  at  the  right  moment 
in  order  to  discharge  the  electricity  of  her  Azucena^ 
while  her  daughter,  who  is  studying  for  the  operatic 
stage,  attended  en  amateur^  a  toy  black-and-tan  ter- 
rier in  her  arms.  Having  listened  to  a  delicious  mor- 
ceaii  from  "  II  Trovatore,"  we  ascended  to  saloon  No. 
2,  from  whence  a  Niagara  of  melody  was  grandly 
thunderini;.  Here  we  found  the  chorus,  numbering: 
al)out  eighty,  seated'hatted  and  bonneted,  with  8ignor 
Rialp  presiding  at  the  pianoforte.  The  rehearsal  was 
♦'Marta."  After  visiting  a  dozen  dillerent  depart- 
ments, every  one  of  which  is  presided  over  by  a  vigi- 
lant chief,  we  again  found  ourselves  on  the  stage. 

**  lioiv,''  exclaimed  the  colonel,  "you  have  some 
little  idea  of  what  I  have  to  look  after,  and  yet  when  I 
produce  a  new  opera,  a  crutch-and-toothpick  fellow 
will  coolly  ask  nie^  after  seeing  it    twice,  when  1  am 


OPERA   AND    OPERA   SINGERS. 


361 


going  to  give  something  <  new.'  Do  you  know  that 
every  one  in  that  chorus  3^ou  have  just  seen  is  an 
Italian,  and    selected  after  considerable    trouble    and 


GERSTER. 


great  expense?     Do  you    know  what  it  costs  me  to 
operatically  rig  up  each  member  of  that  chorus  ? 
"I  camiot  tell." 


3G2  OPKRA    AND    OI'ERA    SINGKRS. 

"  Woll,  it  costs  me  $000,  uiul  it  cost  nic  $15,000  to 
biiiig  the  troiii)e  across  the  Athintic.  Do  you  know 
what  it  costs  mc  every  time  I  ring  up  my  curtain? 
Two  tliousand  seven  hundred  and  iil'ty  dolhirs,  and 
then  add  the  weekly  hotel  bills,  $2,200.  I  am  doing 
opera  at  Her  Majesty's  at  this  moment.  Here's  the 
bill  "  —  handing  me  the  programme  of  Her  Majesty's  — 
"  doing  the  same  operas  as  here,  and  that  in  order  to 
do  them  here,  1  am  ohligcMl  to  get  a  second  set  of 
everylhing^  from  a  drinking-cui)  to  a  l)ootlace,  and  this 
costs  me  £120,000  before  I  started  at  all,  as  this  is  a 
'  distinct  and  separate  undertaking." 

"  How  many  operas  does  your  repertoire  include?" 
"Thirty.  I  have  thirty  with  mc,  and  I  can  play 
any  one  of  them.  Another  element  I  have  to  deal  with  is 
the  superstition,  or  whatever  you  like  to  call  it,  of 
some  of  my  people.  They  won't  go  into  any  room  in 
a  hotel  with  the  number  thirteen,  and  an  artist  won't 
make  his  or  her  debut  on  the  13th  ;  it  is  considered 
utducky.  I  once  recollect  having  engaged  Mmc. 
Gri^si  and  Signor  Mario  for  a  tour  in  England,  eom- 
mencing  the  13th  of  Sei)teniber.  On  sending  them  the 
programme,  Mine.  Grisi's  attention  was  drawn  to  the 
'thirteenth.'  She  thereupon  wrote  a  very  kind  letter 
stating  that  nothing  could  induce  her  to  appear  on  the 
'thirteenth;'  but  to  show  there  was  nothing  mean 
about  her,  she  would  rather  commence  it  on  the 
*  twelfth,'  although  her  pay  was  to  commence  on  the 
'  thirteenth-'  I  amended  her  programme  and  com 
nienced  on  the  '  twclftli,'  but  as  that  date  happened  to 
be  a  Friday  it  was  again  returned  to  me  with  a  most 
amiable  letter,  which  I  still  preserve,  in  which  she 
stated  again  that  there  was  nothing  mean  al)out  the  al- 
teration, as  she  would  be  the  only  loser;  she  there- 
fore desired  me  to    commence!  it  on    the  *  eleventh,' 


OrEKA   AND   OPERA   SINGERS.  363 

when  both  she  and  Signer  Mario  would  sing  without 
sahiry  until  the  proper  date  of  the  commencement  of 
the  contract.  One  of  the  artists  went  to  Tiffany's  tlie 
other  day  to  purchase  a  bangle.  The  price  was  $13. 
'  Won't  you  take  less?'  'No.'  And  would  you  be- 
lieve it,  she  paid  |14  sooner  than  pay  $13." 

We  regained  the  managerial  sanctum. 

"  Here  is  more  of  it,"  cried  the  impresario,  "  a 
letter  from  Campanini.  I'll  read  it  to  you.  '  Dear 
Mr.  Mapleson  :  I  am  very  ill,  and  cannot  possibly  sing 
to-night  unless  you  send  me  —  some  tickets  for  family 
circle,  balcony,  parquette,  and  general  circle.  Cam- 
panini.' " 

Here  the  colonel  was  summoned  to  hear  a  young 
lady  sing  —  an  amateur  who  aspired  to  the  vocal 
majesty  of  grand  opera.  Upon  his  return,  after  the 
lapse  of  a  few  minutes,  I  asked  :  — 

"  What  opera  pays  the  best,  colonel?  " 

"  Oh,  there  are  a  dozen  trumps." 

"  Is  not  '  Carmen  '  one  of  them?  " 

*' Yes,  'Carmen'  has  been  one  of  my  best  suc- 
cesses." 

In  conclusion.  Colonel  Mapleson  said  :  — 

"  I  am  nervous  as  to  the  future,  as  nearly  every 
comino:  artist  has  the  misfortune  to  be  American." 

"  Misfortune,  colonel?  " 

"  Yes.  I  use  the  word  advisedly.  Albani,  Val- 
leria,  Adini,  Van  Zandt  and  Durand,  one  of  the  best 
dramatic  prima  donne  on  the  stage,  who,  by  the  way, 
has  gone  to  sing  at  the  Grand  Opera  in  Paris  instead 
of  coming  here,  and  Emma  Novada,  a  new  prima — 
Candidus,  the  tenor,  too ;  all  the  coming  talent  is 
American." 

The  salaries  paid  prima  donne  are  very  high.  As 
far  back  as  1870,  Mme.  Patti  was  paid  $50,000  a  year, 


3(34  OPERA    AND    OPERA    SINGERS. 

besides  being  given  numerous  presents  })y  the  Enipcroi 
of  Russia,  Last  winter  Mr.  Henry  E.  Abl)cy  paid 
Mme.  Patti  at  the  rate  of  eight  times  the  imperial  sal- 
ary, giving  the  diva  $4,000  for  each  concert  she  sang 
in,  and  she  sang  two  in  each  week.  All)ani  was  paid  at 
the  same  rate  as  Patti  in  Russia.  Nilsson,  before  her 
retirement,  got  $1,000  a  night  in  the  provinces.  Now, 
that  she  is  to  return  to  the  staire  and  come  to  America, 
she  will  be  paid  probably  as  handsomely  as  Patti  was. 
Nearly  all  the  foreign  singers  and  artists  have  London 
agents  through  whom  American  impresarios  carry  on 
their  negotiations.  Gye  is  one  of  these  agents  and  IL 
C.  Jarrett,  of  London,  who  accompanied  Bernhardt, 
as  her  agent,  and  who  represents  Nilsson,  is  another. 
Singers  and  dramatic  people,  too,  are  fond  of  dia- 
monds. They  have  thousands  of  dollars'  worth  of 
them ;  still  they  believe  in  investing  in  them  because 
they  represent  so  much  value  in  such  little  space.  Sara 
Bernhardt  had  a  wonderful  wealth  of  these  precious 
stones,  and  Neilson  Avas  well  provided  with  them.  B. 
Spyer,  the  St.  Louis  diamond  merchant,  with  whom 
theatrical  and  operatic  people  deal  almost  exclusively, 
and  who  enjoys  the  patronage  of  nearly  all  foreign 
artists  who  visit  this  country,  told  me  a  very  funny 
story  about  the  first  diamond  ho  sold  Christine  Nils- 
son,  lie  had  a  splendid  stone  worth  $4,000,  and  tak- 
ing it  with  him  he  went  up  to  the  Lindell  Hotel,  and 
knocking  at  Nilsson 's  door  was  told  to  come  in.  Ho 
opened  the  door  and  there  on  a  sofa  the  great  songs- 
stress  was  reclining  covered  with  an  old  calico  gown. 
Ho  showed  her  the  stone,  but  she  did  not  want  to  buy 
it  and  would  not.  Nilsson  having  left  the  room  for  a 
while,  Mr.  Sj)yer  approached  the  dressing-maid,  who 
was  an  old  lady,  and  showing  her  a  handsome  diamond 
riuir  told  her  he  would  ^irivo  it  to  her  if  she  used  her 


OPERA    AND    OPERA    SINGERS.  3G5 

influence  to  induce  her  mistress  to  buy  the  $4,000  dia- 
mond. She  said  she  would,  and  while  they  were  talk- 
ing in  walked  a  gray-haired  old  gentleman  in  common 
clothes  who  looked  like  a  servant,  and  whom  Mr. 
Spyer  engaged  in  conversation.  He  told  the  old  man 
of  his  scheme  with  the  dressing-maid,  when  the  latter 
said,.  *'  Tut,  tut,  she  can  do  nothing  for  you  ;  she's  got 
no  influence." 

♦' Then  can  you  do  anything?"  Mr.  Spyer  asked. 
"I'll  make  it  all  right  if  you  help  me  to  sell  the 
Madame  that  stone-" 

"  Well,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  I  want  a  pair  of 
ear-rings  for  my  daughters,  who  are  in  England." 

"All  right  "  was  the  diamond  broker's  answer  ;  "  you 
use  your  influence  and  if  I  make  the  sale  you  shall 
have  the  ear-ring's." 

The  old  gentleman  said  he  would  do  what  he  could. 
Mr.  Spyer  sold  the  diamond  to  Nilsson  and  in  a  few 
days  the  old  gentleman  walked  into  his  store  and  after 
looking  over  the  stock  selected  a  $650  pair  of  ear-rings. 
Spyer  was  surprised,  but  his  surprise  was  greater 
when  he  learned  that  the  person  he  had  taken  for  a 
servant  was  none  other  than  H.  C.  Jarrett,  then  and 
now  Nilsson' s  confidential  ao;ent. 

Mr.  Spyer  told  me  another  story  which  I  may  as 
well  bring  in  here,  of  how  he  sold  a  ring  to  Adelaide 
Neilson  for  $3,000.  Mr.  Lee,  who  was  then  Neilson's 
husband,  was  conducting  the  negotiations,  and  told 
Mr.  Spyer  that  he  was  going  to  buy  some  property  in 
Chicago,  and  would  receive  a  telegram  in  regard  to  it, 
to  know  whether  his  ofier  for  the  property  had  been 
accepted  or  rejected.  If  he  did  not  receive  a  tele- 
gram by  twelve  o'clock  noon  the  following  day,  he 
would  buy  the  ring.  At  noon  next  day  Mr.  Spyer  was 
at  the  Southern  Hotel,  where  Mr.  Lee  and  his  wife  were 


360  OPERA   AND    OPERA   SINGERS. 

stopping.  lie  asked  the  clerk  if  he  had  seen  Mr.  Leo 
arouiid  the  rotunda,  and  the  clerk  answered  no,  that 
he  himself  was  looking  for  Mr.  Lee,  as  he  had  a  tele- 
gram for  him. 

"  Well  now,  I'll  tell  jou  what  to  do  —  "  mention- 
ing his  first  name,  for  the  diamond  merchant  knew  the 
clerk,  "you'll  oblige  me  very  much  and  do  me  a  great 
favor  if  you'll  keep  that  telegram  down  here  until  I 
go  up  stairs  and  see  Lee." 

The  clerk  agreed  ;  Mr.  Spyer  went  up  stairs  and  sold 
his  diamond  ring.  Himself  and  Mr.  Li^c  walked  down 
the  stairs  to  get  a  drink.  The  clerk  called  Mr.  Lee, 
handed  him  the  telegram  and  lie  opened  and  read  it. 

"  By  Jove,  Barney,"  he  said,  holding  out  the  tele- 
gram, "  if  I'd  gotten  .this  ten  minutes  sooner  I 
wouldn't  have  bought  that  ring." 

*'  Well,  I'm  glad  you  didn't  get  it,"  Mr.  Spyer  re- 
sponded.    "  Let's  go  and  liave  some  Apollinarius." 

One  morning  during  that  same  week  Mr.  Si)yer  was 
sitting  in  the  store  when  Ncilson  came  in  alone  and 
bouirht  a  diamond  ring  for  $175,  paid  for  it  and  told 
the  merchant  to  saj' nothing  to  Philip  al)Out  it.  There 
was  nothing  so  very  extraordinary  in  this  ;  but  wlien 
Mr.  Lee  came  in  an  hour  aftei'wards  and  picked  out  a 
ring  about  the  same  value  and  l»aying  for  it  enjoined 
Mr.  Spver  to  sav  nothing  to  Adelaide  about  it,  he  was 
surprised  at  the  remarkableness  of  the  eoineidenee. 
He  never  heard    anything  more    about    either  of  the 


rings. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 


THE    MINSTREL   BOYS. 


The  idea  of  negro  minstrelsy  in  its  present  shape 
originated  forty  years  ago  with  Dan  Emmett,  Frank 
Brower,  Billy  Whitlock  and  Dick  Pelhani .  This  happy 
quartette  organized  the  Virginia  Serenaders  in  1841, 
giving  their  first  performance  on  December  30th.  An 
idea  of  the  "first  part  "  furnished  by  that  combination 
was  given  last  season,  when  Dan  Emmett  himself  ap- 
peared with  three  others  in  an  act  in  which  the  old 
jaw-bone  figured,  and  the  other  instruments  were 
banjo,  tambourine  and  fiddle.  Fifty  years  before  the 
time  of  the  Virginia  Serenaders  a  Mr.  Grawpner  is 
said  to  have  blacked  up  at  the  old  Federal  Street 
Theatre,  in  Boston,  where  he  sang  an  Ethiopian  song 
in  character.  The  first  of  the  negro  melodies  that 
have  been  preserved  is  "  Back  Side  of  Albany  Stands 
Lake  Champlain."  It  was  Sung  by  Pot-Pie  Herbert, 
a  Western  actor  who  fiourished  long  before  the  days  of 
"Jim  Crow,"  Rice,  or  Daddy  Rice,  as  they  called 
him.     Herbert's  song  was  as  follows  :  — 

Back  side  Albany  stan'  Lake  Champlain, 

Little  pond  half  full  o'  water; 
Platteburg  dar  too,  close  'pon  de  main, 

Town  small,  he  grow  bigger  berearter. 

On  Lake  Champlain  Uncle  Sam  set  he  boat 

An'  Massa  McDonough  he  bail  'em; 
While  General  Macomb  make  X^iatteburg  he  home 

Wid  de  army  whose  courage  aebber  fail  'em. 

(367) 


3(J8  THE    MIN'STllKL    BOYS. 

Diultly  Rico  was  employed  in  Ludlow  &  Smith's 
Southern  theatre  as  property-man,  lanip-liirhter,  stage 
carjienter,  etc.,  and  lie  made  no  roj)utation  nntil  he 
began  jumpinui;  Jim  Crow,  in  Louisville,  Kentucky,  in 
1829,  after  which  he  became  famous  and  made  a  for- 
tune ])y  singing  his  song  in  this  country  and  England. 
The  oriijinal  "  Jim  ('row,"  with  the  walk  and  dress, 
were  copied  from  an  old  Louisville  negro,  and  ran  along 
regardless  of  rhythm  in  this  manner:  — 

I  went  down  to  creek,  I  went  clown  a  fishing, 
I  axed  the  old  miller  to  gim  me  chaw  tobacker 
To  treat  old  Auut  Ilanner. 

Chorus.     First  on  de  heel  tap,  den  on  dc  toe, 

Ebery  time  I  wheel  about  I  jump  Jim  Crow. 

I  goes  down  to  dc  branch  to  pester  old  miller, 

I  wants  a  little  light  wood; 

I  belongs  to  Capt.  Hawkins  and  don't  care  a  d-^n. 

CiiOKUS.    First  on  de  heel  tap,  etc. 

George  Nichols,  a  circus  clown,  claims  to  have  been 
the  first  negro  minstrel,  and  some  award  this  distinc- 
tion  to  George  Washington  Dixon,  wlio  disputes  the 
authorship  of  "  Zij)  Coon"  with  Nichols,  who  first 
sanir  "  Chire  Dc  Kitchen,"  which  he  arranijed  from 
hearing  it  sung  l)y  negroes  on  the  Mississippi,  Bill 
Keller,  a  low  comedian,  was  the  original  "  Coal  Bhick 
Rose,"  in  1830,  John  Clements  having  (•()m[)osed  the 
music.  Barney  Burns,  a  job  actor  and  low  comedian, 
first  sang  "  My  Long  Tail  Blue,"  and  "  Such  a  Get- 
ting U})  Stairs,"  written  and  composed  by  Joe  Black- 
burn. These  were  all  about  Daddy  Rice's  time,  and 
nearly  all  the  songs  of  the  day  were  constructed  in  the 
style  of  "  Jim  Crow."  They  were  taken  from  hearing 
the  Southern  darkies  singing  in  the  evenings  on  their 
plantations. 


THE   MINSTKEL    BOYS.  369 

In  the  year  following  the  organization  of  the  Virginia 
Serenaders  the  original  Christy  Minstrels  were  organ- 
ized by  E.  P.  Christy,  in  Buffalo.  The  troupe  con- 
sisted of  E.  P.  Christy,  Geo.  Christy  (whose  real  name 
was  Harrington),  L.  Durand  and  T.  Vaughn.  They 
first  called  themselves  the  Virginia  Minstrels,  but 
changed  to  Christy  Minstrels  in  a  short  time,  when 
Enon  Dickerson  and  Zeke  Bakers  joined  them.  The 
party  continued  to  give  concerts  up  to  July,  1850,  when 
E.  P.  Christy  died  and  was  buried  in  Greenwood, 
George  Christy  had  withdrawn  in  October,  1853,  owing 
to  some  dispute  between  himself  and  E.  P.  His 
salary  during  the  two  years  and  six  months  pre- 
ceding the  withdrawal  amounted  to  $19,680.  The 
troupe  gave  two  thousand  seven  hundred  and  ninety- 
two  concerts  during  its  existence,  took  in  $317,- 
589.30,  paid  out  $156,715.70,  and  had  a  profit 
left  of  $160,873.60.  The  profits  of  the  first  year  did 
not  exceed  $300.  Companies  were  now  springing  up 
everywhere,  and  so  great  was  the  rage  for  ministrelsy 
that  the  troupes  were  obliged  to  give  morning  concerts. 
The  entertainment  has  been  one  of  our  public  amuse- 
ments ever  since,  and  a  good  company  of  burnt  cork 
artists  can  command  a  good  house  anywhere.  Follow- 
ing the  spirit  of  enterprise  of  the  age  and  the  tendency 
to  gigantic  proportions  in  everything,  minstrelsy  has 
developed  into  Mastodon  Megatherion  and  other 
mammoth  organizations.  End  men  by  the  dozens,  song 
and  dance  men  by  the  scores  and  no  less  than  forty 
("count  'em  ")  artists  now  amuse  tlie  public  that  was 
satisfied  with  four  in  '41.  By  the  way  it  was  in  this 
year  on  July  4th,  that  bones  were  first  played  before  an 
audience,  the  player  being  Franli  Brower  of  the  Vir- 
ginia Serenaders. 

George  Christy,  who  was  the  most  celebrated  Ethio- 


370 


THK    MINSTREL    BOYS. 


pian  performer  the  world  knew  in  those  days  was 
born  in  Puhiiyra,  State  of  New  York,  November  3, 
1827.  He  was  sent  to  school  at  an  early  age,  and 
althouijh  he  excelled  in  all  the  branches  of  education 


jS&'?Sj.^;^S^i 


GKOIUSE    ("IIKISTY. 


peculiar  to  boys  of  liis  age,  after  school  hours  tho 
master  often  found  him  at  the  head  of  a  party  of  boys 
whom  he  had  assembU;d  together  for  the  purpose  of 
giving  theatrical  entertainments,  or,  as  they  called  it, 


THE    MINSTREL   BOYS.  371 

a  show.  George  was,  as  he  ever  has  been,  the  very 
head  and  front  of  this  species  of  amusement ;  and 
subsequently,  under  the  auspices  of  E.  P.  Christy, 
made  his  debut  as  Julius,  the  bone-player,  in  the 
spring  of  1839,  and  afterwards  attained  to  the  very 
first  rank  in  his  profession.  He  survived  his  name- 
sake many  years. 

The  only  fault  to  be  found  with  the  minstrelsy  of  the 
present  day  is  the  coarseness  that  pervades  many  of  the 
sketches  and  crops  out  in  the  songs  and  funny  sayings. 
The  old-time  ne2;ro  character  has  been  sunk  out  of 
sight  and  the  vulgarity  of  the  gamin  has  taken  the 
place  of  the  innocent  comicalities  that  were  in  vogue 
ibrty  years  ago.  It  is  true  that  the  negro  character 
has  undergone  a  change  and  that  the  black  man  now 
vies  with  his  white  brother  in  everything  that  is  low 
and  vicious ;  but  the  criticism  still  holds  good  that 
negro  minstrelsy  is  not  what  it  was  or  what  it  ought  to 
be,  and  that  no  matter  how  grand  its  proportions 
may  be  made  by  enterprising  managers  the  many 
features  that  make  it  ol)jectionable  to  fastidious  people 
must  be  pruned  ofFbefore  it  can  be  said  to  be  deserving 
that  full  recognition  which  the  public  always  accords  to 
whatever  is  good  in  the  amusement  line. 

The  negro  minstrel  is  an  institution  entirely  outside 
of  the  pale  of  commonplace  people.  He  talks  differ- 
ently from  other  people,  acts  differently,  dresses 
differently.  A  "  gang  of  nigger  singers  "  can  be 
identified  three  blocks  away  by  an  ordinary  observer 
of  human  nature.  They  have  a  fondness  for  high  and 
shining  silk  hats  that  are  reflected  in  the  glaze  of  their 
patent-leather,  low-quarter  shoes  every  time  they  pull 
up  their  light  trousers  to  look  at  their  red  or  clocked 
silk  stockmgs.  Their  clothes  are  of  a  minstrelsy  cut, 
and  like  the  party  who  came  to  town  with  rings  on  her 


372  THE   MINSTREL   BOYS. 

fingers  and  rings  on  her  toes,  they  must  have  tlieir 
fingers  covered  with  amethysts  or  cluster-diamond 
ornaments,  and  they  rarely  ever  fail  to  display  a 
"spark"  in  their  gorgeous  shirt  fronts.  They  arc 
"  mashers  "  of  the  most  pronounced  type  on  the  stage 
and  off,  and  just  as  soon  as  they  take  possession  of  a 
small  town,  it  is  safe  to  say  that  all  the  feminine 
hearts  lying  around  loose  will  be  corraled  within 
twenty-four  hours  of  their  arrival.  They  are  as  gen- 
erous now  as  they  were  years  ago,  and  few  of  them 
save  a  cent  for  the  frequently  mentioned  rainy  day. 
The  very  best  of  them  have  died  in  poverty,  and  found 
graves  only  through  the  charit\^  of  friends.  Johnny 
Diamond  and  his  partner,  Jim  Sanford,  the  former  of 
whom  helped  Barnum  in  his  first  steps  along  the  road 
to  fortune,  both  died  in  the  same  Philadelphia  alms- 
house. They  had  commanded  l)ig  salaries,  but  dressed 
flashily  and  lived  fast,  and  when  the  rainy  day  came 
they  had  to  run  for  shelter  to  a  pul)lic  charity.  Very 
few  performers  who  die  in  poverty  now  are  allowed 
to  seek  any  other  than  the  charity  of  their  i)r()fessional 
brethren.  The  Benevolent  and  Protective  Order  of 
Elks  takes  care  of  the  unfortunates,  assisting  them 
trenerouslv  while  livinir  and  j;ivin<2:  them  decent  burial 
at  their  death. 

As  I  said,  the  minstel  boy  is  an  irresistiljle  "  masher." 
His  particular  weakness  is  women,  with  wine  often 
only  a  little  behind.  He  lives  at  as  rapid  a  rate 
as  his  salary  will  allow,  and  turns  night  into  day  l)y 
♦' taking  in  the  town  "  after  the  performance.  They 
frequently  get  into  scandalous  history  owing  to  the 
promiscuousness  with  which  they  pick  up  with 
petticoats,  and  tlieir  amours  get  them  into  great 
trouble.  Women  seem  to  have  a  lavish  fondness  for 
the  end-man,  and  juany  of  them  have  left  husband, 


THE   MINSTREL   BOYS. 


373 


cliildrcn,  and  home  to  follow  the  fortunes  of  a  fickle 
minstrel.  The  story  of"  the  Chicago  gambler's  wife 
who  ran  off  with  Billy  Arlington  is  still  fresh  in  the 
minds  of  the  people  of  the  city  by  the  lake,  and  still 


"YOU  ARE  THE   SORT   OF  A   MAN   I   LIKE. 


>i 


fresher  is  that  of  the  St.  Louis  demi-mondaine  who 
sold  out  her  house  to  be  always  near  her  "  Johnny," 
who,  I  think,  was  one  of  the  Big  Four. 

A   mash  that  created  a  sensation,  though,  was  one 


374  THE   MINSTREL   BOYS. 

that  (lovelopod  in  a  New  York  Bowery  theatre,  one 
night,  when  a  young  woman  elegantly  attired  jumped 
out  of  a  private  box,  and  embracing  a  performer  who 
was  just  finishing  a  banjo  solo,  shouted  in  a  voice  that 
was  clear  and  loud,  "  You're  the  sort  of  a  man  I  like  !" 
The  audience  cheered  lustily  and  the  young  woman 
accepted  the  applause  with  a  courtesy,  while  the  ban- 
joist  staggered  into  the  wings,  too  much  amazed  to  be 
flattered.  A  young  man  from  whose  side  the  lady  had 
made  her  leap  upon  the  stage,  succeeded  with  some 
difficulty  in  coaxing  her  back  into  the  box  and  the 
show  went  on.  The  pair  had  been  dining  and  wining 
together,  and  the  young  gentleman  had  not  been  as  at- 
tentive to  his  companion  as  she  thought  i)ro[)er.  So 
she  had  chosen  the  original  method  of  at  once  re- 
bukinix  and  shaming  him.  She  succeeded.  He  did  not 
dure  to  look  at  another  woman  on  or  off  the  stajje 
again  until  the  curtain  fell. 

Those  who  have  never  witnessed  the  rehearsal  of  a 
minstrel  company  can  have  but  a  very  faint  idea  of  the 
amount  of  worry  and  vexation  to  which  the  manager 
is  subjected  before  he  becomes  satisfied  that  the  com- 
pany has  mastered  the  work  so  that  it  is  in  a  condi- 
tion to  present  to  the  public.  The  scene  at  a  dramatic 
rehearsal  is  tlic  scene  of  perfect  peace  and  harmony 
compared  with  that  of  a  minstrel  comi)any.  The  dif- 
ference is  caused  by  the  fact  that  dramatic;  performers 
study  their  lines  and  business  carefully,  and  have  the 
idea  constantly  before  them  that  they  must  adhere  to 
the  text  and  tlic  author's  ideas  closely,  while  minstrels, 
or  "  nigg(!r  singers  "  as  they  are  called  l)y  members  of 
the  profession,  work  with  only  one  end  in  view,  and  that 
is,  to  be  funny.  A  minstrel  having  a  speech  of  a  dozen 
lines  will  mukv.  it  twenty-live  times  anil  never  make  it 
twice  alike.     Every  time   ho   speaks    it   he  will   drop 


THE    MINSTREL   BOYS.  375 

out  something  or  insert  something  which  the  author 
did  not  intend  to  be  there.  The  result  is  that  a  man- 
ager superintending  a  rehearsal  is  in  hot  water,  figura- 
tively, all  the  time.  If  he  storms  and  swears  at  the 
performers,  he  only  makes  matters  worse,  and,  there- 
fore while  he  is  inwardly  boiling  with  vexation  he  must 
retain  a  calm  exterior  and  appear  as  smiling  as  a  June 
morning.  There  have  been  well  authenticated  cases 
where  minstreb  managers  have  been  driven  to  strons: 
drink  by  the  intense  strain  upon  their  mental  faculties 
occasioned  by  superintending  rehearsals.  These  cases, 
however,  are  rare. 

Through  the  courtesy  of  Manager  J.  A.  Gulick,  I 
had  the  pleasure,  last  spring,  of  witnessing  a  rehearsal 
of  Haverly's  Mastodon  Minstrels.  I  took  a  seat  under 
the  shadow  of  the  balcony  to  watch  developments,  and 
passed  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  in  inspecting  the  dull, 
dismal  aspect  of  the  house.  Everything  was  quiet  and 
oppressively  sombre.  Occasionally  a  scrub  woman 
who  was  working  a  broom  in  the  dress  circle  would 
bark  one  of  her  shins  against  one  of  the  iron  chair- 
frames  and  sit  down  and  howl  in  a  subdued  tone,  but 
beyond  this  there  was  nothing  to  break  the  stillness 
until  the  members  of  the  company  began  to  arrive. 
Presently  the  orchestra  came  in  and  began  to  tune  up 
their  instruments  to  a  condition  proper  for  the  promul- 
gation of  sweet  strains,  and  then  the  comedians  and 
singers  came  sauntering  in  on  the  stage.  Apparently, 
the  first  duty  of  each  and  every  one  of  them  upon  get- 
ting out  of  the  wings,  was  to  execute  a  shuffle,  cock 
his  hat  over  his  left  eye  and  swagger  off  up  the  stage 
with  a  satisfied  smile.  Each  having  been  successfully 
delivered  of  his  matutinal  shuffle,  and  having  satisfied 
himself  that  he  hadn't  contracted  the  "  string-halt  " 
during  the  night,  all  seated  themselves  and  awaited  the 


376  THE  MlNsTliEL  BOYS. 

appearance  of  the  nianngev.  Divested  of  their  burnt 
cork  and  stage  toggery,  the  company  looked  more  like 
a  collection  of  Avell-to-do  young  men  in  the  commer- 
cial walks  of  life  than  minstrel  performers.  All 
looked  as  if  they  had  passed  a  comfortable  night,  and 
had  not  indulged  in  those  revels  which  are  erroneously 
supposed  to  be  inseparable  from  the  life  of  a  minstrel. 
Consequently  I  was  bound  to  conclude  that  they  had 
said  their  prayers  at  11  :  30,  aud  at  midnight  were 
snoring  the  snores  of  the  innocent  and  blessed.  The 
onl}'^  member  of  the  company  Avho  lo(;ked  as  if  ho 
might  have  gone  wrong  on  the  previous  night  was  Frank 
Cushman.  His  right  eye  was  l)loodshot,  and  he  had  a 
protuberance  on  his  forehead  over  the  optic  such  as 
might  be  raised  by  the  kick  of  a  mule.  His  condition 
was  afterward  explained  by  the  fact  that  in  attempting 
to  make  a  "  funny  fall  "  iu  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  on 
the  night  })revious,  he  had  made  a  miscue  and  had  re- 
ceived a  genuine  fall,  striking  on  his  head.  Suspicion 
was  therefore  allayed,  and  I  became  satisfied  tliat  Cush- 
man, too,  hud  said  his  prayers  and  had  gone  regularly 
to  bed  unloaded. 

Pr()m[)tly  at  eleven  o'clock,  the  hour  set  for  rehear- 
sal, Manager  Gulick  arrived  and  j)roceeded  at  once  to 
business  by  delivering  an  address  to  the  orchestra 
leader :  — 

"Now  we  don't  want  any  break  in  tliis  first  jiart 
finish  to-niijht.  You  want  to  make  that  first  chorus 
very  forte  and  then  work  it  ofi'  gradually  very  })iano. 
Then  when  they  all  come  on  you  want  a  short  wait  and 
then  a  crash  —  see  ?  ' ' 

The  leader  nodd<'d  to  iudicate  that  he  saw. 

•'Then,"  resumed  Mr.  Ciulick,  "  when  you  hear  the 
pistol  fired,  woik  in  that  (e  um  iddle  de  te  um  ah  liddle 
um  t iddle  tah  —  seci"' 


THE   MINSTREL   BOYS.  377 

The  leader  cagain  saw,  and  the  manager  continued  : 

"Then  when  you  come  to  'The  girl  I  left  behind 
me,'  put  in  la  la  turn  liddle  la  la  tum  liddle  ah  —  see  ?  " 

But  without  waiting  to  see  whether  the  leader  saw 
or  not  the  manager  turned  to  the  company  with: 
"  Now,  boys,  get  down  to  business  and  we'll  rehearse 
that  first  part  finish." 

Then  there  was  a  rush  of  the  "  40-count  'em" 
down  to  the  foot-lights,  and  everybody  began  to  talk. 
Each  man  struck  a  different  subject  and  a  different  key 
apparently,  and  the  finish  appeared  to  be  so  thoroughly 
jumbled  up  that  it  seemed  an  impossible  task  to 
straighten  it  out  again.  But  the  performance  appeared 
to  be  an  adjunct  of  the  rehearsal,  for  when  it  was  fin- 
ished Mr.  Gulick  took  his  seat  at  the  foot-lights,  while 
the  company  arranged  itself  in  the  usual  semi-circle, 
with  E.  M.  Kayne,  the  interlocutor,  in  the  centre. 
More  instructions  were  given  by  the  manager,  when  a 
young  man  rushed  in  and  performed  the  pantomime  of 
handing  Mr.  Kayne  a  telegram,  which  the  latter  pan- 
tomimically  opened  and  calmly  announced  that  he  had 
just  received  news  that  he  had  just  won  the  prize  of 
$50,000  in  the  Kentucky  State  lottery.  He  didn't 
make  as  much  fuss  over  it  as  any  other  man  would  over 
finding  a  half-dollar  on  the  street.  The  news  must 
have  pleased  him,  for  he  remarked  :  — 

"Boys,  I'm  in  luck." 

"  What  is  it?  "  said  Billy  Rice. 

"  Fifty  thousand  dollar  prize,"  replied  Mr.  Kayne. 

"  What  did  I  tell  you?  "  said  Rice. 

"  Take  us  out  and  treat  us,"  said  Cushman 

"  Didn't  1  tell  you  I  was  a  Mascot,"  said  another. 
They  all  called  for  lemonade,  and  Mr.  Kayne  compro- 
mised the  matter  by  agreeing  to  take  them  all  to  Europe 
on  a  pleasure  trip  if  they  would  pack  their  trunks  in 


378 


THE    MINSTREL    1J9YS. 


five  minutes.  A  chorus  was  Iheu  sung  and  tho  trunks 
were  announced  packed.  Jimmy  Fox  then  camo 
forward  and  announced  that  he  was  ctiptaiu  of  tho 
Pinafore.     The  other  members  of  the  company  must 


•^-i-. 


JIM    CROW. 


have  been  looking  for  him,  lor  they  shot  liim  dead  with 
a  vociferous  "  banir  I  "  and  tlien  i)roceeded  to  sinjr 
•' Gh)ry  Ilallclujali,"  over  liis  coi'pse.  This  brought 
him  to  life  aj^ain  and   he  was  readmitted  to  the  excur- 


THE  MINSTREL   BOYS.  379 

sion  party.  One  of  the  vocalists  then  sang  "Old 
Folks  at  Home,"  and  at  its  conclusion  Mr.  Kayne  asked 
if  there  was  no  one  else  to  whom  they  wished  to  say 
"  good-by,"  but  all  responded,  "  No,  not  one." 

"Yes,  there  is,"  said  Mr.  Kayne,  and  the  orchestra 
opened  with  "  The  Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me." 

The  rehearsal  was  interspersed  with  very  sweet  little 
melodies,  which  redeemed  such  verses  as  this  : 

Our  trunks  are  packed  and  our  passage  is  paid, 

Sail  o'er  the  ocean  blue ; 
Of  the  briny  wave  we're  not  afraid, 

Sail  o'er  the  ocean  blue. 

Then  Cushman  sang  ;  — 

Oh,  fare  you  well,  St.  Louis  girls, 
Fare  you  well  for  awhile ; 
We'll  sail  away  in  the  month  of  May 
And  come  back  in  July. 

Rice  retaliated  with  :  — 

Fare  you  well,  you  dandy  coons, 
We'll  show  you  something  grand; 
We'll  sail  away  o'er  the  ocean  blue, 
Till  we  reach  the  promised  land. 

There  was  nothing  strikingly  classical  about  the 
words,  but  the  melody  was  charming,  and  covered  them 
with  a  charitable  cloak. 

The  first  part  finish  having  been  rehearsed,  Manager 
Gulick  discovered  some  flaws  in  it  and  ordered  it  to  be 
done  over  again.  On  hearino;  this  the  man  at  tiie  bass 
viol  looked  up  piteously  at  Billy  Rice  and  asked  :  — 

"Are  we  going  through  it  again?  " 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Rice  ;  "  do  you  want  to  rest 
all  the  time?  " 

This  question  was  not  answered  and  the  bass  viol 
dropped  into  a  seat  apparently  completely  discouraged. 


380  THE   MINSTREL    1JOY8. 

The  piece  was  rehearsed,  not  once  only,  but  half  a 
dozen  times,  and  when  it  was  pronounced  all  right  the 
bass  viol  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  that  shook  the  building. 

Several  songs  were  then  rehearsed,  during  which 
everybody  was  busy.  At  one  side  of  the  stage  the 
quartette  was  singing,  Cushman  was  practising  an  end 
song,  the  orchestra  was  at  work  on  an  overture,  three 
or  four  men  were  brushing  up  on  a  farce,  two  song- 
and-dance  men  wore  inventing  new  steps,  and  Charley 
Dockstader  was  reading  tiie  Clipper.  It  was  an  ex- 
ceedingly lively  scene,  and  there  was  noise  enough  to 
wake  the  dead.  Vocal  and  instrumental  music  fought 
a  pitched  battle,  while  the  dancers  hammered  the  stage 
with  their  feet  as  if  by  way  of  aiiplauso.  A  boiler- 
shop  is  a  haven  of  rest  beside  a  minstrel  rehearsal  at 
this  stage. 

The  rehearsal  lasted  nearly  two  hours  without  a 
rest,  and  was  as  utterly  unlike  a  minstrel  performance 
as  can  well  be  imagined.  There  was  nothing  particu- 
larly amusing  in  it  except  its  oddity,  and  yet  when  it 
was  presented  with  black  faces  and  varied  costumes  it 
caused  roar  upon  roar  of  tiie  heartiest  laughter,  be- 
cause those  who  saw  it  then  had  not  seen  how  the  per- 
formance was  constructed. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 


PANTOMIME. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  clowns  familiiir  to  people 
who  patronize  amusements  —  the  clown  who  juggles 
old  jokes  in  the  circus  ring,  and  the  clown  whose 
only  language  is  that  of  facial  expression,  and 
whose  grins  and  grimaces  together  with  his  extraordi- 
nary antics  and  white  face  are  more  acceptable  to  and 
interpretable  by  childhood  than  the  ancient  and  petri- 
fied humorisms  of  his  brother  laugh-maker  of  the  saw- 
dust circle.  There  is  no  circus  clown  in  the  world 
could  stretch  the  heart-strings  of  an  audience  as  far  and 
hold  them  there  longer  than  George  L.  Fox,  the  king 
of  pantomimic  merry-makers.  His  was  a  face  readable 
as  the  pages  of  a  book  printed  in  good  large  type,  and 
the  wonderful  swift  chamjes  that  came  over  it  were  like 

CD 

fleecy  clouds  and  sunshine  chasing  each  other  across  a 
summer  sky.  Poor  Fox,  who  sent  a  thrill  of  joy  into 
the  hearts  of  thousands  of  little  folks  and  caused  their 
rosy  lips  to  over-bubble  with  silvery  laughter,  his  was 
a*  hard,  an  undeserved  fate  —  death  in  a  madhouse, 
without  a  glint  of  reason  to  light  him  on  his  journey 
across  the  dark  river.  He  has  left  no  successor  more 
worthy  of  his  place  than  George  H.  Adams,  whose  tal- 
ent obtained  him  the  recognition  of  Adam  Forepaugh, 
the  showman,  with  whom  he  is  now  in  partnership. 
Frazier  and  clowns  of  minor  merit  fill  the  rest  of  the 
places,  but  Adams  is  at  the  top  of  the  heap,  and  may  be 
fitly  termed  the  Grimaldi  of  to-day. 


382 


PANTOMIME. 


GEOKGK    n.   AlJAMS    IV  HUMITV    DUMITY. 


PANTOMIME.  383 

It  is  pleasant  to  visit  a  theatre  during  the  progress 
of  a  pantomime.  The  house  is  filled  with  old  and 
young  in  equal  proportions,  or  if  there  is  any  prcpon- 
derence  it  is  on  the  side  of  the  little  folks,  who  clamber 
up  on  the  backs  of  chairs  and  laugh  freely  and  sweetly  as 
the  birds  in  the  forest  sing,  every  time  they  catch  sight 
of  the  chalked  head  of  the  clown  and  the  gray  tuft 
standing  like  a  turret  above  poor  old  Pantaloon's  wig. 
And  the  old  people  laugh  all  the  heartier  because  the 
innocent  young  people  have  their  hearts  and  mouths 
filled  with  joy.  The  pantomime  may  be  "  Humpty 
Dumpty"  or  "The  Magic  Flute"  or  "The  Merry 
Miller" — call  it  by  Avhatever  name  you  will,  an 
intense  interest  is  taken  in  it,  and  new  enjoj^ment  is 
found  in  every  performance.  The  tricks  are  the  same, 
the  mechanical  effects  identical  with  those  of  every 
other  pantomime  you  may  have  seen,  and  even  the 
specialty  sketches  that  divide  the  acts  of  the  dumb 
show  seem  to  be  of  very  close  kindred  with  those  of 
former  attractions  of  this  kind.  Still  everybody  enjoys 
the  fun  just  as  many  jDeople  laugh  at  the  "  chestnuts  " 
—  vulgariter ,  old  jokes  —  of  the  man  in  motley  attire, 
who  tries  to  make  the  patrons  of  the  circus  feel  happy. 

It  makes  no  difference  to  the  miniature  men  and 
women  who  are  Humpty  Dumpty' s  best  friends  and 
admirers,  how  the  mechanical  effects  of  a  pantomime  are 
produced.  They  do  not  care  much  to  know  that  the 
pig  Humpty  Dumpty  and  Pantaloon  stretch  across  the 
width  of  the  stage  in  an  endeavor  to  tear  it  from  each 
other,  has  a  rubber  body  ;  that  the  bricks  the  clown 
throws  at  everybody  are  only  paper  boxes  ;  that  the 
trick  pump  is  worked  from  the  side  scenes  with  a 
string ;  that  the  clothes  which  suddenly,  and  as  if  by 
some  invisible  influence,  vanish  into  the  sides  of  houses 
or  up  through  windows    have  light  but  strong  black 


384  PANTOMIME. 

thread,  which  the  little  ones  cannot  sec  at  a  distance,  at- 
tached to  them  ;  the  big  policeman  is  to  them  a  stern 
and  gigantic  reality  ;  and  it  aflbrds  them  more  fun  to 
imagine  every  time  llumpty  throws  or  makes  a  blow  at 
anybody,  that  the  stinging  sound  is  a  sure  indication  that 
his  aim  was  well  taken  —  they  do  not  know  that  the 
sound  as  of  receiving  a  blow  is  the  result  of  slapping 
the  hands  together.  All  the  simple  illusions  of  the 
scene  and  of  the  action  are  to  them  actual  facts,  and 
they  appear  all  the  more  ridiculous  and  arc  all  the 
more  eflective  on  this  accomit.  AVhen  llumpty 
Dumpty  dives  through  the  side  of  a  house,  disappear- 
ing behind,  there  arc  men  in  waiting  to  catch  him,  and 
when  he  sits  down  to  read  his  newspaper  and  the  can- 
dle begins  to  grow  beyond  his  reach,  then  falling  as  ho 
attempts  to  go  higher  with  a  suddcMi  bang,  and  the 
clown  comes  tumblinfj  down  after  it  as  Jill  did  after 
Jack  when  they  went  up  the  hill  for  the  bucket  of 
beer,  few  of  the  big  or  little  people  know  that  the  can- 
dle runs  down  through  one  of  the  legs  of  the  table  and 
is  all  wood  except  the  waxen  bit  at  the  top.  All  these 
little  mysteries  have  their  charms  for  the  years  of 
childhood,  and  in  no  country  are  the  pleasures  of  the 
pantomime  so  fuUj^-ecognized  as  in  England,  where  on 
BoximrNi'dit  —  the  2(!lh  of  Docembcr  —  children  crowd 
the  theatres  to  witness  the  Christmas  pantomime.  In 
some  theatres  here  the  custom  of  providing  pantomime 
for  the  Christmas  holidays  is  adhered  to,  but  as  there 
are  not  enough  Grimaldis  or  Foxes  or  Adamses  or 
Fraziers  to  go  around,  the  supply  being  very  limited, 
we  cannot  compete  with  England  in  this  respect. 

As  Adams  is  the  only  pantomimist  who  can  lay  any 
claim  to  the  mantle  of  George  L.  Fox —  if  clowns  can 
be  said  to  have  mant  Ics  —  a  short  biography  may  not  bo 
out  of  i)laco.     He  is  twenty-eight  years  old,  is  a  native 


PANTOMIME.  385 

of  Eno-lancl,  unci  is  the  eldest  son  of  Charles  H. 
Adams,  one  of  the  best  Pantaloons  in  the  country. 
lie  comes  from  a  family  of  circus  people,  being  a  de- 
scendant of  the  famous  Cookes,  riders  and  clowns, 
and  is  a  cousin  of  W.  W.  Cole,  the  circus  manager. 
He  was  apprenticed  to  the  manager  of  Astley's,  in 
London,  when  he  was  six  years  of  age,  and  remained 
there  eight  years.  After  appearing  as  clown  with  a 
circus  in  Denmark,  he  came  to  America,  and  for  sev- 
eral years  travelled  with  different  circuses.  His  first 
appearance  as  clown  in  the  pantomime  was  in  Brooklyn, 
New  York,  in  1872,  under  the  management  of  Tim 
Donnelly,  who  gave  a  pantomime  every  year  during  the 
Christmas  holidaj^s.  His  father  was  the  stage  man- 
ager for  Donnelly,  and  suggested  to  George  the  idea  of 
playing  clown.  George  refused  at  first,  but  finally  at 
his  father's  earnest  solicitation  decided  to  go  on.  He 
made  an  unmistakable  hit,  and  from  that  time  deserted 
the  sawdust  arena  and  adopted  the  stage.  After  sev- 
eral successful  seasons  with  Nick  Roberts  and  Tony 
Denier  he  last  season  accepted  an  offer  of  partnership 
with  Adam  Forepaugh  to  run  a  show  under  his  own 
name. 

In  the  last  Christmas  number  of  the  London  Graphic 
I  found  the  following  excellent  article  on  "  Boxino" 
Night"  as  the  little  folks  of  London  enjoy  it:  "The 
very  first  night  of  anticipated  pleasure  has  come  to 
nine-tenths  of  the  little  ones  who  gaze  upon  the  scene 
in  silent  wonder  and  astonishment.  Imagination  in  its 
wildest  dreams  never  pictured  anything  so  wonderful  as 
this.  There  have  been  little  theatricals  at  home,  plays 
in  the  back  drawing-room  ;  some  fairy  tale  has  been 
enacted  for  which  kind  sisters  have  supplied  the  ward- 
robe, whilst  mamma  has  presided  over  the  piano  or- 
chestra.    It  was  good  fun  to  crawl  across  the  mimic 


3.Sn  PANTOMIME. 

stage  ill  u  hcartli-nig,  pretending  to  be  a  wolf  or  l)t':ir, 
and  to  hear  the  laujrhter  of  kind  friends  in  front  ;  but 
all  that  home  amusement,  the  curiosity  and  contriv- 
ances, the  songs  and  dances  were,  indeed,  child's  play 
when  compared  to  a  real  tlicatre  on  Boxing  Night. 
What  importance  is  given  to  the  child  b}^  being  con- 
sidered old  enough  to  sit  up  so  late  as  this  ;  what  a 
sense  of  mystery  and  wonderment  to  be  driven  through 
the  lighted  streets  ;  to  see  the  decorated  shops  set  out 
with  Christmas  presents  and  New  Year's  gifts  ;  and  to 
behold  for  the  first  time,  the  bright  electric  light  on 
the  bridges  and  embankment  !  But  this  is  far  better 
than  all,  and  only  a  very  little  removed  from  fairyland. 
IIow  the  myriad  lights  in  the  great  chandeliers  glisten 
and  sparkle,  and  the  stage  foot-lights  dazzle  ;  how 
splendidly  the  orchestra  seems  to  play  ;  and  hark  !  the 
boys  in  the  gallery  are  taking  up  the  tune,  and  singing 
together  with  wonderful  swing  and  precision.  One 
comic  sonii:  and  street  tune  follows  another;  the  band 
suggests  and  the  young  musicians  tiUvC  it  ui)  with  a 
will.  Just  now  they  had  been  a  pelting  of  the  pit  with 
orange  peel  —  all  in  good  fun,  of  course.  The  lads  in 
their  shirt  sleeves  had  whistled  and  screamed,  and 
saluted  friends  in  distant  corners  of  the  gallery  ;  but 
now  all  this  horse  l)lay  is  quieted  b}'  music  and  melody. 
It  is  l>oxiiig  Night,  and  tli(!re  must  be  patriotism  as 
well  as  i)leasurc.  '  Rule  Britannia,'  '  God  bless  the 
Prince  of  Wales,'  and  '  God  Save  the  Queen,'  arc  sung 
from  thousands  of  lusty  throats,  and  all  the  audience 
rise  to  their  feet,  waving  hats  and  handkerchiefs. 
Loyalty  is  as  necessary  as  love  at  Christmas-time. 
And  what  lias  that  good  old  wizard  Blanchard  prejiared 
for  the  liaj)py  childi-cn?  He  must  be  as  immortal  as 
Father  Christmas,  ami  certainly  is  (piite  as  popular. 
He  will  be  the  guide  iip  tin-  rocks  of  romance,  and 
away  to  the  fields  of  fairyland.      He  will  lead  his  hapjiy 


PANTOMIME.  387 

followers  amidst  ogres  and  giants  and  elves  and  fays, 
to  wizard  castles  and  enchanted  dells  ;  now  you  will  be 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  where  lovely  queens  wave 
sea-weed  wands  ;  and  now  on  land  amidst  the  yellow 
corn-fields  and  the  bluebell  lanes.  Tlicre  will  be  song- 
and  dance,  and  the  madcap  pranks  of  thousands  of 
children,  liliputian  armies  and  glittering  armor,  poe- 
try and  processions,  hobby-horses  and  the  dear  old 
Clown  and  Harlequin  and  Pantaloon  supporting  '  airy 
fairy '  Columbine,  if  they  would  only  ring  that 
prompter's  bell  and  pull  up  tluit  tantalizing  curtain. 
The  noise  is  hushed,  the  music  stops,  the  overture  is 
over —  but  wait. 

*' What  are  they  doing  behind  the  curtain?  There 
are  beating  hearts  also  in  the  manufactory  of  pleasure. 
Christmas-time  means  food  and  raiment  to  the  o-reat 
majority  of  those  who  are  awaiting  the  prompter's 
signal.  They  have  come  from  courts  and  alleys,  from 
cold,  comfortless  rooms,  from  care  and  poverty,  from 
watching  and  from  want,  to  this  great  busy  hive  that 
uncharitable  people  abuse  and  ridicule.  Times  have 
been  bad,  the  winter  has  advanced  too  soon,  wao-es 
have  been  slack ;  but  all  will  be  mended  now  that 
Christmas  has  come  again.  Hearts  beat  lightly  under 
the  prince's  tunics  and  the  dancers'  bodices,  for  every 
mickle  makes  a  muckle,  and  there  is  work  here,  from 
the  proud  position  of  head  of  the  Amazonian  army  to 
the  humble  individual  who  earns  a  shillinir  a  nisfht  for 
throwing  carrots  in  a  crowd  and  returning  slaps  in  a 
rally.  And  the  training  and  discipline  of  the  rehear- 
sals up  to  this  anxious  moment  have  not  been  without 
their  advantage.  Punctuality,  silence,  order,  and 
sobriety  are  the  watchwords  here.  There  have  been 
no  idling,  dawdling,  and  philandering,  as  many  silly 
people  imagine.  Even  the  little  children  have  learned 
something,  perhaps    their  letters,  perhaps  the  art  of 


388  PANTOMIME. 

singing  in  nnison,  certainly  tlic  merit  of  being  smart 
and  nscful.  But  now  it  is  the  great  examination  day. 
The  lessons  are  over,  and  the  result  is  soon  to  bo 
known.  What  a  wild  fantastic  scene  it  is  —  a  very 
carnival  of  costumes.  Fairies  and  hop-o'-my-thnml)s, 
monkeys,  and  all  the  miscellaneous  mixture  of  the 
menagerie,  gorgeous  knights  in  armor  and  spangled 
syrens,  Titania  and  her  train,  i)astel)oard  chariots, 
wands  and  crystal  fountains,  fruits  and  forest  trees, 
mothers,  dressers,  carpenters,  and  costermongers  for 
the  crowd,  all  mixed  up  in  ajiparent  confusion,  but  in 
reality  as  well  drilled  and  disciplined  as  an  army  pre- 
pared for  action.  All  belong  to  some  separate  depart- 
ment oi-  division  ;  there  is  a  leader  for  every  scpiad, 
who  is  responsible  for  his  men,  and  if  anything  goes 
wrong  a  prompt  fine  is  a  very  wholesome  punishment. 
It  has  been  weary  work  during  the  last  few  rehearsals, 
and  certain  scenes  have  had  to  be  repeated  again  and 
again.  The  testing  of  the  scenery  has  delayed  the 
action,  and  it  has  been  late  enoui2;h  before  these  busy 
bees  have  irot  to  bed.  But  the  excitement  of  the  mo- 
ment  gives  new  vitality.  The  night  has  come,  and 
evervone  is  bound  to  do  his  or  her  best.  Everything 
is  smart  and  new,  and  the  girls  and  children  are  proud 
of  their  costumes,  in  whitii  they  strut  about  admir- 
ingly. The  stiige  manager  has  recovered  his  amiability, 
and  calls  everyone  "  my  dear."  A  rai)id,  business- 
like glance  is  cast  over  the  various  scenes  to  see  that 
everything  is  straight  and  ship-shape  ;  the  reports  come 
np  fi'om  the  various  departments  to  say  there  are  no 
defaulters.  The  gas  man  is  at  his  i)ost,  and  the  lime- 
liirht  man  at  his  station.  The  ballet  master,  with  his 
tlag  in  hand,  is  standing  ready  on  his  stool.  Keady  ? 
Yes,  sir!  is  the  answer.  Up  go  the  foot-lights  with  a 
flare,  a  Ixll  rings,  the  curtain  rises,  and  th(!  liappy 
people  before  and  behind  the  Christmas  curtain  meet." 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

VARIETY  DI^^S  AND  CONCERT  SALOONS. 

Outside  of  the  leoitimate  theatres  there  is  a  larsce 
variety  of  places  of  amusement  —  that  is,  they  are 
called  places  of  amusement,  but  the  fumes  of  vile 
tobacco,  the  odor  of  stale  beer,  the  fiery  breath  of 
cheap  whiskey,  the  sight  of  filthy  women  and  filthier 
men,  and  the  most  excruciating  and  torturesome  kind 
of  music,  all  combine  to  make  the  resort  anything  but 
pleasant  and  the  while  the  incidents  that  attract  the 
visitor's  attention  are  anvthinoj  but  amusins;.  There 
is,  of  course,  no  complaint  of  this  sort  to  urge  against 
the  first-class  variety  theatres.  These  cater  in  a  modest 
way  to  a  low  standard  of  intellect,  but  usually  their 
programmes  are  chaste  enough,  and  unless  a  person 
has  an  aversion  to  having  beer  spattered  over  his 
clothes  by  unhandy  waitei's  while  ministering  to  the 
thirsty  wants  of  a  neighbor  in  the  same  row,  or  objects 
to  the  attention  of  the  gay  girls  who  open  wine  in  the 
private  boxes  and  flirt  with  the  people  in  theparquette, 
he  will  find  a  first-class  variety  show  as  pleasant  a  place 
as  a  good,  long,-  mixed  programme  with  the  Glue 
Brothers  in  song  and  dance  at  one  end,  the  Irish  Trip- 
lets, in  "  select  vocalisms  and  charming  terpsichorean 
evolutions,"  in  the  middle,  and  a  lugubrious  sketch  at 
the  other  end  can  make  it.  By  some  mysterious  law 
known  only  to  variety  performers,  the  variety  stage 
only  about  once  in  a  century  produces  anything  new  or 
anything  attractive.     In  the  good  old  days  of  the  bal- 

(389) 


300 


VAKIETY    ])IVi:S    AND    COXCEUT   SALOONS. 


let  there  was  dniwing  power  in  the  display  of  shapely 
limbs  and  the  graceful  music-of-niotion  lik(;  manner  in 
which  the  girls  tip-toed  or  piroutted  across  the  stage  ; 
or   when   tho  variety  Ihcah-o  was  as  much   the    homo   of 


P^^^i  }SMi 


FENCING    SCENE    IN    15LACK    CROOK. 

spectacle  as  the  legitimate  houses  pretended  to  he, 
and  on  the  \':iu(l(villc  stage  scenes  were  i)rcsented 
that  belonged  to  the  same  class  of  labyrinthine  scen<'ry 
and    profuse    female    beauty    that  the    ♦' I'l.uk    (^rook " 


VARIETY   DIVES    AND    CONCEU'J?    SALOONS.  3U1 

and  "The  Green  Huntsman"  were  the  representa- 
tives of.  When  spectacles  were  the  rage  and  the  fenc^ 
ino-  scene  in  the  "  Bhick  Crook  "  would  set  the  boys 
at  the  top  of  the  house  wild  with  joy,  the  variety 
theatre  had  among  the  bright  stars  of  its  stage  actors 
and  actresses  who  are  now  among  the  most  popular, 
and  certainly  among  the  heaviest  money-makers,  who 
appearin  the  legitimate  houses. 

Joe  Emmett  graduated  from  the  variety  theatre. 
Gus.  Williams  was  a  shining  light  on  the  same  stage. 
J.  C.  Williamson  was  a  variety  artist.  Geo.  D.  Knight 
did  "  Dutch  business  "  in  the  minor  theatres  before  he 
got  to  be  famous  as  Otto.  I  recollect  having  seen 
Knight  play  Rip  Van  Winkle  in  Deagle's  old  variety 
theatre  on  Sixth  Street,  in  St.  Louis,  and  he  played  it 
well  — not  like  Jefferson,  of  course,  but  it  was  his  first 
attempt  at  the  part,  and  if  Jefferson  did  any  better  the 
first  time  he  must  not  have  improved  very  much  since. 
This  Avas  twelve  years  ago.  Mrs.  Geo.  Knight 
(Sophie  Worrell)  danced  on  a  concert  saloon  stage  in 
San  Francisco.  So  did  Lotta,  and  so  did  Mrs.  Wil- 
liamson. Den  Thompson,  whose  Joshua  Whitcomb  is 
a  perfect  picture  of  the  New  England  farmer,  first  tried 
this  same  character  in  the  variety^  theatre,  and  Neil 
Burgess  and  the  "  Widow  Bedotte  "  were  first  intro- 
duced  to  the  public  as  the  tail-end  of  a  nigger-singing 
and  specialty  programme. 

Those  were  the  palmy  days  of  the  variety  show 
before  negro  ministrelsy  had  grown  to  its  present 
enormous  proportions  and  before  plays  were  written  so 
as  to  take  in  a  whole  variety  entertainment,  and  under 
the  disguise  of  comedy  or  farce  or  burlesque  foist  a 
lot  of  specialty  people  from  a  first-class  stage  upon 
an  intelligent  audience.  The  musico- mirthful  pieces 
that  began  to  blossom  forth  in   1880  made  a    heavy 


392 


VARIETV   DIVES    AND   CONCEKl'   SALOONS. 


demand  upon  the  resources  of  the  variety  houses,  and 
within  a  year  threaten  to  leave  them  entirely  at  tho 
mercy  of*'  ham-fats,"  as  the  lower  order  of  this  kind 


f-,^^^^<-. 


i\ 


MAD. THEO. 

of  talent  is  de.sigimtod.  "Fun  on  the  Bristol  "  and 
fifty  more  flimsy  patchworks  of  the  same  kind  wero 
sailing  around  tho  country  in  a  sliort  time,  and  every 


VARIETY  DIVES  AND   COKCEUT   SALOONS.  393 

"  team  "  that  had  a  specialty  act  of  fifteen  minutes 
duration  wanted  a  play  built  to  fit  it  and  went  around 
telling  friends  that  they  guessed  they'd  go  starring 
next  season.  A  great  many  of  them  did  not  go,  but  a 
great  many  others  did.  The  worst  were  left  behind, 
and  the  result  was  poor  variety  programms  and  in 
consequence  poor  patronage  for  them. 

I  picked  up  a  programme  the  other  day,  belonging 
to  what  was  once  a  first-class  house,  and  is  so  still  in 
all  except  the  standard  of  the  performance,  and  found 
such  old  and  worn-out  features  as  a  lightning  crayon 
artist  and  a  lightning  change  artist,  both  of  which  are 
so  threadbare  that  even  a  ten-cent  theatre  wouldn't 
care  to  give  them  stage  room.  It  is  an  easy  step  from 
this  kind  of  thing  down  to  the  dives.  The  latter, 
as  an  institution,  flourishes  wider  and  pays  better  than 
places  of  less  savory  notoriety.  There  is  such  a  charm 
to  vice  that  even  the  saintly  do  not  hesitate  to  linger 
in  its  neighborhood  a  while,  and  take  a  sniff  of  its 
pungent  atmosphere.  Anybody  who  drops  into  Harry 
Hill's  place  in  New  York,  any  night  in  the  week,  will 
see  some  remarkably  churchy  looking  gentlemen  stand- 
ing around  studying  the  aspect  of  the  establishment 
and  dwelling  with  melting  ej^es  upon  some  of  the 
painted  faces  that  look  up  from  the  beer  tables 
ranged  at  one  side  of  the  hall.  A  correspondent  who 
visited  Harry  Hill's  very  recently,  gives  the  following 
description  of- the  place,  its  proprietor  and  its  fre- 
quenters :  "  Harry  Hill's  grows  bigger  as  its  notoriety 
extends  with  years,  but  it  never  changes.  It  is  not  a 
bar-room,  not  a  concert  saloon,  not  a  pretty  waiter- 
girl  establishment,  and  not  a  free-and-easy.  None  of 
these  terms  describe  it,  for  it  is  all  those  things  in  one 
and  at  once  —  big  second-story  room,  containing  a  bar, 
a  theatrical  stage,  which  can  quickly  be  made  into  a 


304 


VARIETY    DIVES    AND    CONCERT   SALOONS. 


prize  ring,  a  l)are  space  for  dancing,  tables,  seats,  a 
balcony,  and  a  few  so-called  wine-rooms.  There  are 
always  as  many  women  as  men  in  the  place.  The 
women  are  admitted  by  a  private  entrance,  free.     Men 


GUS    WILLIAMS    AS    JXO.  MISHLER. 

pass  through  a  neglected  l)ar-room  on  the  ground  floor 
at  a  cost  of  twenty-five  cents.  Prosperity  has  added  a 
mansard  roof  and  a  clock-tower  to  the  original  struc- 
ture, and  Hill  has  taken  in  an  adjoining  building,  and 


VARIETY  DIVES  AND  CONCERT  SALOONS.     3^5 

turned  its  best  apartments  into  billiard  and  pool-rooms 
and  a  shooting  gallery.  Let  us  go  in  through  the  bar- 
room, up  a  winding  stair  and  suddenly  into  the  glare 
and  bustle  and  merriment  of  the  so-called  theatre.  On 
the  stage  two  women  are  exhibiting  as  pugilists,  with 
boxing-gloves,  high-necked  short  dresses,  soft,  fat, 
bare  arms,  and  a  futile  effort  to  look  very  much  in 
earnest,  and  as  if  they  did  not  realize  how  apparent  it 
was  that  their  s^reatest  effort  was  to  avoid  hurtinc^  one 
another's  breasts  or  bruising  one  another's  faces. 

"  In  the  chairs  around  the  tables  are  many  men,  and 
an  equal  number  of  women.  The  men  are  mainly 
young,  and  a  majority  seemtobecountvy  3'ouths  or  store 
clerks.  There  are  others  evidently  country  men  or  for- 
eigners. The  women  wear  street-dress,  hats  and  all. 
They  are  Americans,  often  of  Irish  or  German  extrac- 
tion. As  a  rule  they  are  not  pretty,  but  they  are 
quiet  and  mannerly.  They  know  the  cast-iron  rules 
of  the  house  —  no  loud  or  profane  talking,  no  rt)ud 
lauirliinji:,  no  qiiarreliuir,  "no  lovins;."  These  are 
printed  and  hang  on  the  walls,  and  all  who  go  there 
either  know  or  speedily  find  out  that  the  slightest 
breach  of  them  results  in  prompt  expulsion  from  the 
house.  All  are  drinking,  and  many  of  the  women 
are  smoking  big  cigars  or  tiny  cigarettes.  Other 
women,  without  hats  or  sacques,  but  wearing  big 
white  aprons,  serve  as  waiters  and  as  bartenders. 

"  Harry  Hill  himself,  a  smoth-faced  old  man,  broad, 
bio-  and  muscular,  who  shares  with  Lester  Wallack 
the  secret  of  looking  twenty  years  younger  than  he  is, 
sits  at  a  table  with  a  detective  and  a  chief  of  police 
from  some  suburb.  Hill  is  always  there,  and  is  ever 
entertaining  distinguished  strangers.  Clergymen  from 
the  cities  drop  in  at  the  rate  of  one  a  night.  The 
women,  as  they  come  and  go,  stop  and  salute  or  speak 


396  VARIETY  DIVES   AND   CONCERT   SALOONS. 

with  Hill.  lie  knows  them  ;ill,  is  kind  to  :ill,  and  is 
liked  by  all.  He  has  nothing  to  do  with  them  or 
their  allairs,  however,  his  phice  being  merely  their 
exchange,  and  their  dnty  being  merely  to  behave 
while  there.  The  boxers  bow  and  retire,  and  a  yonng 
woman,  who  was  a  few  minutes  before  at  one  of  the 
tables  with  a  l)roker,  who  was  opening  champagne, 
now  faces  the  foot-li<2;hts  in  a  short  silk  skirt,  l)aro 
arms,  bare  head  and  red  clogs.  She  sprinkles  white 
sand  on  the  boards  from  a  gilt  cornucopia,  the  music 
of  a  piano  and  three  violins  strike  up,  and  she  rattles 
her  heels  and  toes  through  a  clog  dance.  It  is  a  waltz 
tune  that  she  is  keeping  time  to,  and  a  tall  young 
woman  of  extremely  liaughty  mien  and  rich  apparel 
seizes  a  shy  and  seedy  little  product  of  the  pavement 
and  whirls  her  round  and  round  in  the  bare  space 
on  the  floor.  The  lookers-on  gather  there,  and  a 
callow  stripling  from  the  country,  without  previous 
notice  or  formality,  grasps  a  snuhnosed,  saucy-looking 
girl  in  the  throng  and  joins  the  dancers. 

"  <  Some  of  these  girls  'as  bin  a-coming  'ere  ten  or 
fifteen  years,'  says  Harry  Hill,  'and  looks  better  to- 
day than  others  which  left  their  'omes  a  'alf  year  ago. 
Hit's  hall  hacordin'  to  'ow  they  take  to  drink.  Hif 
they  go  too  farst  they're  sure  to  go  too  far.' 

"Do  they  reform?  Well,  Mr.  Hill  says  there  arc 
so  many  notions  of  what  reform  really  is,  that  he 
can't  say.  Some  of  them  reform  and  become  mis- 
tresses when  they  get  a  chance,  and  some  of  them 
reform  and  return  and  reform  again  by  spells.  He 
points  out  one  whom  he  calls  Nellie,  and  says  she 
went  away  and  w^is  going  to  lead  a  strictly  honest  life, 
disappeared  for  six  months,  and  the  other  night  came 
back  again. 


VARIETY   DIVES   AND    CONCERT   SALOONS.  397 

"  I  kept  my  eye  on  Nellie,  and,  needing  no  introduc- 
tion, seized  a  chance  to  talk  with  her. 

"  '  I  got  married,  and  was  as  straight  as  a  string  for 
six  months,'  said  she  ;  '  but  I  had  misfortune,  and 
had  no  other  way  to  support  myself  but  to  come  back 
here.' 

Husband  leave  you  ?  ' 
'  He  got  caught  cracking  a  dry  goods  store,  and  is 
up  for  two  years.'  " 

The  patrons  of  the  variety  "dives"  are  usually 
young  men,  clerks,  salesmen,  and  sometimes  the 
trusted  employee  of  a  bank  or  broker's  office  will  get 
"  mashed  "  upon  one  of  the  almost  naked  women  who 
appear  upon  the  stage,  and  will  thereafter  be  numbered 
among  the  patrons  of  the  resort.  Those  who  have 
gone  into  the  private  boxes  once  and  find  the  girls 
obliging  enough  to  sit  on  their  knees  and  ask  them  to 
treat  will  go  there  again  if  they  can  possibly  get  the 
fifty  cents  that  is  asked  as  an  admission  fee. 

Sometimes  a  party  of  really  Christian  men  unfamil- 
iar with  city  ways  will  get  into  a  variety  dive  by  mis- 
take, and  what  is  more,  into  the  boxes.  The  jrlarino- 
sign  over  the  front  of  the  house  which  simply  an- 
nounces that  the  place  is  a  theatre  attracts  them  to  the 
box-office. 

"  Say,  Mister,  what  do  you  tax  us  to  go  in?  "  one 
of  the  party  asks. 

"  Tickets  are  twenty-five,  thirty-five  and  fifty  cents," 
answers  the  dapper  little  man  in  the  box-office  who 
looks  as  if  he  ought  to  be  a  bar-keeper  or  a  barber. 

"  Give  us  five  of  your  half-a-dollar  chairs,"  says  the 
spokesman,  throwing  down  his  money,  and  they  are 
forthwith  led  to  seats  in  the  private  boxes,  which  are 
no  more  than  long  galleries  walled  in  and  having  two 
or  three  windows  to  which  the  occupants  crowd  when 


398  VARIETV   DIVES   AND    CONCERT   SALOONS. 

anything  interesting  is  going  Ibnvard  on  the  stage. 
As  I  have  already  said  these  boxes  arc  connected  by 
doors  with  the  stairc  ami  the  serio-comic  vocalist  who 
has  a  few  minutes  to  spare  will  loiter  in  to  strike 
somebody  for  a  drink. 

"  Say,  baby,  can't  I  have  a  wet?"  one  of  the  female 
wrestlers  remarks  as  she  plumps  herself  down  in  her 
tights  on  the  quivering  knee  of  a  weak  little  fellow  who 
appears  young  enough  to  be  fond  of  molasses  candy 
yet,  and  throws  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  hugs 
him  to  her  tlahby  breast  violently  enough  to  disarrange 
the  black  cnrl}^  hair  he  had  slicked  down  at  the  barber 
shop  just  before  he  came  in. 

"A  what?"  he  asks,  trying  to  get  his  neck  suffi- 
ciently released  to  be  at  least  comfortal)le. 

"A  drink,  darling,"  and  she  hugs  him  again  and 
begins  playing  with  a  little  curl  ever  his  forehead. 

"  Why,  of  course  you  can,"  is  the  overwhelmed 
young  man's  reply. 

Now  she  looks  fondly  into  his  eyes  and  with  the  most 
affectionate  expression  at  her  command  asks  :  "And 
how  about  my  partner,  baby.  Can't  she  have  a 
diink?" 

"  I  sui)pose  so,"  responds  the  victim  ;  and  there  i«  a 
loud  shouting  at  the  stage-door  for  "  Ida,"  or  some- 
body else,  and  Ida,  knowing  what  she  is  wanted  for, 
liiiiiics  to  till!  spot.  In  iIh'  meantime  "  Johnnie,"  the 
waiter,  has  been  summoned. 

"  Give  me  a  port  wine  sangaree,"  says  Ida's  part- 
ner. 

".Vnd  give  me  a  stone  fence"  (cider  and  brandy), 
says  Ida. 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  driidv,  l)aby?"  the 
wrestler  sitting  on  his  knee  asks. 

"  (Jive  me  glass  of  heer,"  says  the  "  baby,"  in  a  tone 


VARIETY    DIVES    AND    CONCERT    SALOONS. 


31)  D 


saffioicntly   disconsolate    to    suggest    that    he    was     afraid 
he    might   not*  have  enough   money  to    pay   for  the  treat. 


O 

H 
M 
H 

W 
ft 

P 

M 

w 
ft 

o 


One  night    a    party   of    saintly    looking    grangers    from 
Indiana,  —  five  of  them,  —  who   appeared  as   if  they  were 


400  VAKIETY   DIVES    AND    CONCERT    SALOONS. 

a  delegation  to  some  sort  of  a  religious  conven- 
tion, got  into  a  Bowery  dive  by  some  mistake,  but 
made  no  mistake  in  remaining  there.  They  got  in 
early  and  it  was  late  when  they  left.  The  whola  thing 
appeared  novel,  startling  to  them.  They  had  never 
before  seen  so  much  unstripped  womanhood  exposed 
to  the  naked  ej'e.  They  hired  a  cheap  opera-glass 
from  the  peanut  boy,  and  they  bought  "pop"  the 
whole  night  long.  During  the  first  part,  when  all  the 
girls  ;yul  the  "nigger"  end-men  sit  in  a  circle  and 
sing  dismal  songs  and  deal  out  smutty  jokes,  the 
grangers  were  in  a  perfect  ecstacy  of  wonder  and  ad- 
miration for  the  shortness  of  the  women's  dresses  and 
the  symmetry  of  their  padded  liml)s  ;  but  when  the 
first  part  was  over  and  a  serio-comic  singer  came  trip- 
ping out  upon  the  stage  without  any  dress  at  all  on  — 
nothing  but  a  bodice,  trunks  and  flesh-colored  tights  — 
and  sang  "Tickled  Him  Under  the  Chin,"  they  were 
in  a  frenzy  and  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  their 
hands,  or  how  to  sit  still,  because  the  singer  kept 
throwing  glances  in  the  direction  of  their  box.  Then 
came  the  supreme  exaltation  of  their  feelings ;  the 
serio-comic  danced  over  to  the  box  as  she  sang,  and  ac- 
tually tickled  the  most  clerical  member  of  the  quin- 
tette on  his  fat,  white  chin,  while  the  four  others  looked 
on  in  astonishment,  and  the  audience  ("airly  howled. 

The  grangers  were  "  guyed"  pitilessly  by  the  audi- 
ence, l)ut  they  paid  little,  if  any,  attention  to  it.  As 
soon  as  the  serio-comic  had  done  her  "turn"  she 
rushed  for  their  box,  and  before  long  the  five  Iloosiers 
were  as  happy  as  the  lark  when  it  trills  its  song  to  the 
morning. 

Tiie  "  dive  "  audiences  are  mixed  in  their  character, 
as  has  been  already  suggested,  and  the  proximity  of  a 
well-dressed   young  man  to  a  crowd  of  hoodlums  in 


M'LLE    GENEVIEVE. 


VARIETY  DIVES   AND    CONCERT   SALOONS.  401 

jeans  pants  and  braided  coats  often  precipitates  a  row. 
Scarcely  a  night  passes  in  the  flash  variety  shows  that 
there  is  not  some  trouble.  A  "  bouncer  "  is  connected 
with  each  establishment,  whose  business  it  should  be 
to  quell  disturbances,  bat  who,  like  hot-headed  Irish 
policemen,  do  more  towards  increasing  the  dimensions 
of  a  row  than  forty  other  men  could  do.  It  is  bad  policy 
to  attempt  open  criticism  of  the  performers  or  perform- 
ance in  one  of  these  dens.  A  hiss  will  attract  the  at- 
tention of  the  bouncer,  who  will  come  down  to  the 
sibilant  offender  and  say  :  — 

*'  Young  man,  do  ye  expect  us  to  give  ye  Sary  Burn- 
hart  an'  Fannie  Divenpoort  and  Ed' in  Booth  fur 
twinty-five  sints.  Af  ye  don't  loike  the  show  lave  it, 
but  af  ye  open  yer  mug  ag'in,  or  say  so  much  as 
'  Boo,'  I'll  put  ye  fwhere  ye'll  have  plinty  toime  to 
cool  yersel'  afi*." 

If  the  oflender  dares  to  argue  the  point  the 
"bouncer"  will  catch  him  by  the  neck,  and  then  a 
strui2:o;le  ensues,  canes  are  flourished,  the  audience 
rise  to  their  feet,  some  of  the  girls  run  in  fright  from 
the  stage,  and  there  is  pandemonium  in  the  place  for 
ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  by  the  end  of  which  time  the 
"  bouncer"  has  taken  his  man  out,  and  returning  to 
business,  triumphantly  answers  a  question  as  to  the 
whereabouts  of  the  hisser  :  — 

"  Oh,  I  left  him  lyin'  out  there  in  the  gutther 
where  the  collar  '11  come  along  an'  get  'im." 

Occasionally  there  will  be  an  incident  of  a  more 
dangerous  kind,  but  tinged  slightly  with  romance.  It 
is  related  that  a  cowboy  went  into  a  variety  show  in 
Marshal,  Texas,  one  night  and  made  quite  a  scene. 
His  "mash"  was  a  "chair  sweater"  in  the  show. 
Entering  the  place  one  night  considerably  under  the 

2S 


402 


vauii:ty  i)ive8  and  concert  saloons. 


iiiiluence  of  hriiic,  he  culled  to  his   love  in  stentorian 
tones : — 

"  Mtirj,  get  jour  duds  on  and  come  with  me." 

*'Sh-h-]i!"  said  Mary. 


ARMADO    AM)    JAQUENETTA. 

Akm.:  — I  love  thoo. 

jAy.:  —  So  I  licard  voii  say. 

Love's  Labuur  "Lost,  Act  I..  Scene  2, 


•'  Sh-h,  iiothinir,"  was  the  lover's  response.     *'  You 
jest  tog  up  quicker'u  li — ,  or  1*11  dnii-c  these  glims." 


VARIETY   DIVES   AND    CONCERT    SALOONS.  403 

*'I'll  be  through  in  an  hour,"  urged  Mary  pacift- 
cally. 

"This  show'll  be  out  sooner  than  that,"  was  the 
cowboy's  answer,  as  he  pulled  his  barker  and  began 
shooting  the  tips  off  the  side  lights.  He  had  just 
emptied  his  "  weapin "  and  was  about  loading  up 
again,  when  the  frightened  audience  was  reassured  by 
the  stage  manager  stepping  on  the  stage  and  saying, 
"Mary,  you  are  excused  for  the  remainder  of  the 
evening.     Go  dress  right  away." 

A  "  chair  sweater,"  or  "  stutter"  as  she  is  called  out 
West,  is  a  girl  who  sits  in  the  first  part,  and  who  has 
nothing  else  to  do  than  wear  skirts  short  enouo-h  to 
display  her  limbs,  and  join  in  the  choruses  if  she  can 
do  so  without  knocking  the  life  out  of  ^le  selection. 
After  the  first  part  she  sits  in  the  boxes  and  "  works  " 
the  boys  for  drinks.  If  she  can't  make  anything  in  the 
boxes  she  goes  out  into  the  audience  —  in  the  lowest 
of  these  dens  —  and  flits  from  one  place  to  another 
getting  a  drink  here,  and  by  that  time  "spotting" 
somebody  over  there  whom  she  esteems  worthy  of 
"  striking."  She  keeps  this  up  all  night,  until  the 
after-piece  — the  cancan,  or  whatever  else  it  may  be  — 
is  reached,  w^ien  she  goes  behind  the  scenes  and  ap- 
pears on  the  stage  in  the  same  street  costume  she  has 
worn  out  in  the  audience.  The  "  chair  sweater's  "  lot 
is  not  a  happy  one.  While  pursuing  her  sudorific  vo- 
cation she  innocently  imagines  that  she  is  making  an 
actress  out  of  herself,  and  I  guess  she  is  —  a  "  dive  " 
actress. 

Now  and  then  the  "chair  sweater"  combines  her 
own  business  with  that  of  her  employer  by  selling  her 
own  or  other  photographs  to  "  grays, ^'  Some  of  these 
pictures  are  of  the  vilest  kind,  but  they  sell  readily  to 
the  patrons  of  the  "  dive,"  and  as  the  sale  is  etfected 


404  VARIETY    DIVES    AND    CONCERT   SALOONS. 

quietly,  even  an  honest  granger  now  and  then  buys 
cue,  "just  to  show  'em  up  around  the  grocery." 

Tho  variety  «' dive"  usually  ch)ses  its  performance 
with  a  iiery  and  untamed  cancan,  all  the  people  of  the 


LAURA    DON. 


company  joining  in  the  dance,  the  men  usually  in  the 
character  costumes  and  "  inakc-np "  in  which  they 
have  ai)pear(!d  l)erorc  in  their  sketches  or  iu-ts. 

Then  follow  tlif.  orgies  behind  the  scenes.     Some- 


BENEDICK    AND    BEATRICE. 

Beatrice:  — Talk  with  a  man  out  of  window? — a  proper  saying 
Benedick:— Nay  but  Beatrice;  — 

Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  Act  IV.,  Scene  1. 

times  it  is  a  wine  supper  with  champagne  from  the  bar 
of  the  house  flowing  so  freely  that  the  undressed 
divinities  do  not  hesitate  to  empty  bottle  after  bottle 
over  their  heads  as  if  they  were  Roman  candles,  there- 
by giving  the  assemblage  a  shower  of  Mumm's  Extra 

(405) 


406  VARIETY   DIVES   AND    CONCERT    SALOONS. 


Dry;  or  i)crh;ips  tlicy  will   shiimpoo  the  swelled   head  of 
one  of  the  «reiitleineii. 

Ill  tlio   wiiic-rooin,   wlindi    is  an   adjunct  of   all  tlicso 


VARIETY   DIVES   AND    CONCERT   SALOONS, 


407 


houses,  juul  which  is  a  place  that  affords  sechision  to 
those  who  want  to  be  out  of  the  way  of  meeting  friends 


THATCHER,  PRIMROSE    AND    WEST. 


or  attracting  the  notice  of  strangers,  many  extraordi- 
nary exploits  are  to  be  witnessed.     Plenty  of  drink, 


408  VAKIETY    DIVES   AM)   COXCEUT   SALOOXS. 

however,  is  necessary  to  stiinul:itc  the  fun,  and  when 
the  girls  get  au  old  victim  into  their  clutches  they 
"play"  him    so  nicely  that  he  believes  the  whole  lot 


A     "  IJOWEIiV         ON'    A    "1.AI;K, 

of  them  are  in  love  with  him,  and  every   few  minutes 
comes  the  cry,  *'  Let's   have  another  bottle,"  and  they 


Variety  t>ivEs  and  concert  saloons.         409 

have  it.  They  sit  on  his  lap  or  phiy  circus  riding  on 
his  shoulders,  and  until  the  last  bottle  has  come,  and 
the  victim  has  run  dry  of  funds  they  keep  him  in  good 
humor ;  then  they  show  him  the  door,  coldly  say 
*' Ta,  ta !  Baldy,"  and  laugh  heartily  at  his  verdant 
innocence  as  he  stao-o-ers  away. 

The  man  who  allows  any  of  these  women  —  these 
cancan  dancers  or  "  chair  sweaters  "  — to  entice  him  to 
their  home  is  lost.  If  he  has  money  and  they  know  it 
they  will  not  take  him  to  their  home,  but  to  some 
lodging-house  with  the  proprietor  of  which  the  can- 
can dancer  is  acquainted,  and  whom  slie  knows  she 
can  trust.  A  pitcher  of  beer  and  a  bit  of  drugging 
for  the  victim's  glass  does  the  business.  While  she  is 
strokino;  his  beard  and  kissins^  the  end  of  his  nose  the 
drug  is  flowing  gently  into  the  goblet  of  beer.  They 
drink,  and  in  a  short  time  the  soporific  has  its  effect, 
and  the  slumberins:  man  is  relieved  of  his  valuables 
and  cash.  He  appeals  to  the  police,  and  they  promise 
to  do  something  for  him,  but  they  don't.  He  sees  the 
cancan  dancer  ao-ain  the  next  niijht  but  she  knows 
nothing  about  it.  The  proprietor  of  the  lodging-house 
is  dumb  as  an  oyster.  All  the  victim  can  do  is  to 
balance  the  account  by  putting  experience  on  the  debit 
side  of  the  ledger  and  damphoolishness  on  the  other. 

In  New  York  the  Bowery  is  the  great  j^lace  for  these 
dives.  There  are  any  number  of  them,  and  the  Bowery 
actress  who  is  brazen  enough  to  smoke  her  cigarettes 
in  the  street,  especially  when  she  is  "  on  a  lark,"  may 
be  distinguished  by  the  boldness  of  her  face  and  the 
almost  masculine  atmosphere  that  surrounds  her.  She 
seems  to  care  for  nobody  and  nothing  except  her  small 
dog  and  the  loafer  who  spends  her  money,  and  looks 
upon  herself  as  the  equal  of  the  best  woman  in  the 
profession. 


410 


A'AlUEXr    DIVES    AND    CONCEUT    SALOONS. 


The  l)ov  theatres  whicli  ilourish  in  all  larsfc  cities, 
aiul  which  arc  tlirty,  tlingy  miniature  jjlaccs  -with  gal- 
lery and  pit,  and  six  hy  nine  stages  upon  -which  the 
goric.-^t  of  l)lood-curdling  dramas  are  enacted,  have  a 
variety  j)ha.se  to  them,  specialty  performers  preceding 
1h(^    dramatic    representations,    and    half-nude   women 


CONCEUT    SALOON    BAND. 

mingling   and   drinking    with    Ix'ardlcss   vouths   in   the 
boxes. 

The  concert  saloon,  as  some  of  the  low  jjlaces  that 
have  a  fat  German  with  pink-spotted  shirt  and  stove- 
})ipe  hat  playing  the  i)iano,  while  a  chap  that  has  the 
outward  ai)pcarance  of  a  speculative  })hilosopher  is 
blowing  a  cyclone  through  a  cracked  cornet,  is  called, 
has  its  uttructions  for  manv  ;  and  if  there  are  ladies  to 


VARIETY  DIVES  AND  CONCERT  SALOONS. 


411 


eke  out  the  entertainment  by  squeezing  discord  out 
of  an  accordeon  with  flute  obligato  of  an  ear-piercing 
and  peace-destroying  kind  —  or,  in  fact,  if  there  arc 
any  female  musicians  on  the  grounds,  the  proprietor 
of  the  establishment  may  count  on  liberal  patronage. 
The  female  orchestras  to  be  found  in  the  Bowery, 
New  York,  where  a  squad  of  pretty  girls  all*  dressed 
in  white,  with  a  female   leader  wielding  the  baton  with 


FEMALE   BAND. 

as  much  nerve  as  if  she  were  old  Arditi  himself,  are 
irresistible  attractions  to  those  whose  tastes  lead  them 
to  lager  beer,  and  who  like  to  partake  of  the  beverage 
particularly  in  pleasant  surroundings.  A  person  does 
not  get  very  much  beer,  but  he  hears  a  great  deal 
of  wild  music,  and  unless  he  is  over-sensitive  he  will 


VARIETY   DIVES   AND    CONCERT   SALOONS.  413 

forgive  the  music  and  forget  the  beer  —  if  he  can. 
It  is  but  a  few  years  since  that  the  keeper  of  a  beer 
o-arden  first  introduced  these  institutions  into  American 


,^ 


'„?f^#^ 


JAMES    O  NEILL. 


life.     His  venture  proved  so  sliccessful  that  imitators 
sprang  up  all  along  the  Bowery.     The  tenements  of 


414  VAIJIKTV    DIVES    AND    COXCKRT    SALOONS. 

the  East  Side  were  cx[)l()iod,  :uk1  every  female  who 
coiikl  torture  the  neighbors  with  an  accordeon,  scrape 
the  catgut  or  hang  the  piano  was  enlisted  in  the  grand 
scheme  of  catering  to  the  musical  tastes  of  Gotham's 
beer  drinkers. 

"  Over  the  Rhine,"  in  Cincinnati,  is  a  great  place  for 
cheap  and  vicious  amusements.  A  correspondent  writ- 
ing  from    there    says:    "The    places    of  amusement 


AN    IDEAL    "MASIIEU." 

"Over  the  Khinc  "  line  Vine  Street  for  lialf  a  dozen 
blocks.  They  arc  of  the  democratic  and,  with  one 
exception,  rude  order,  more  fauiiliar  to  the  backwoods 
than  to  the  civilization  east  of  the  Mississippi.  Some 
are  large  cstal)lisiiments  with  all  the  tittings  of  an  East 
Side  variety  theatre.  Olhors  are  mere  halls  with  a 
limited  stage  at  one  end.  To  some  an  admission  is 
charged,   ranging  from    tea    cents    up  to  twenty-five 


vauif:ty  dives  and  concert  saloons.         415 

cents,  but  most  of  them  are  free.  The  performers  in- 
clude many  familiar  stars  of  the  variety  stage,  for  the 
sahirics  paid  are  of  the  best.  The  performances, 
thougli  vulgar,  are  clean  enough.  The  drinks  pay  all 
expenses,  of  course.  Beer  is  served  throughout  the 
house  and  s,moking  is  perpetually  in  order.  In  most 
places  there  is  a  gallery  of  boxes  where  the  young 
women  from  the  stage  mingle  with  such  of  the 
audience  as,  by  their  generosity,  deserve  such  honor. 
These  are  "  stuffers,"  or  as  they  call  them  here  "  chair 
warmers."  One  of  them  has  conquered  the  soul  of  a 
local  critic  and  he  is  actually  puffing  her  into  promi- 
nence in  her  peculiar  line  through  the  columns  of  one 
of  the  leading  papers." 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 


A   TEAM   OF   IRISH   COMEDIANS. 

Tho  variety  stage  is  responsible  for  a  great  many 
theatrical  "what-is-its."  A  few  years  ai;o  there  was 
not  so  much  variety  to  the  variety  business  ;  the  pro- 
jectors of  mastodon  ami  megatherian  companies  were 
not  in  the  field  to  encourage  poor  artists,  and  only  the 
really  eminent  and  excellent  in  this  branch  of  the 
profession  were  allowed  to  iiillict  themselves  on  first- 
class  audiences.  Now  the  dizziest  of  tho  tlirou'*-  make 
their  way  to  the  foot-lighis  under  respectable  auspices 
in  the  largest  cities,  and  share  with  their  really  deserv- 
ing ])rethern,  about  in  equal  parts,  the  sympathy  and 
applause  of  large  and  fashionable  houses.  The  differ- 
ent branches  of  the  business  are,  at  present,  subdivided 
into  more  parts  than  there  were  formerly  principal 
divisions,  and  every  new  feature  of  the  profession  has 
its  exalted  and  also  its  insignificant  exponents.  There 
are  a  hundred  and  one  dilfercnt  stvles  of  sonsr-and- 
dance  men  anil  song-and-dance  women  ;  serio-comics 
arc  as  widely  variant  in  their  styles  and  repertoires,  as 
they  call  the  few  songs  tlioy  sing  threadbare,  as  they 
are  numerous  and  diverse  in  their  types  of  beauty  or 
ugliness  ;  sketch  artists  have  in  their  multiplicity  in- 
fringed upon  the  legitimate  comedians,  tho  wihl  bur- 
lesques, and  tho  highly  operatic  stars'  territories ; 
there  are  scores  and  scores  of  sciiools  of  musical  mokes 
and  thousands  of  performers  with  eccentric  acts  of  one 
kind  or  another  that  are  intended  to  astonish  and  be- 

(4ii;) 


A   TEAM   OF   IRISH    COMEDIANS. 


417 


wilder  the  "  natives,"  as  they  call  the  vast  number  of 
people  who  patronize  their  shows.  But  the  Irish  com- 
edian stands  out  amid  all  these  changes,  immutable  in 
his  make-up   and  unmindful  of  the  hoary  age  of  the 


EDWIN    HARRIGAN. 

jokes  with  which  he  tortures  the  intelligent  portions  of 
his  audiences.  He  has  been  dressed  and  redressed 
and  placed  before  the  public  in  any  number  of  shapes 
that  were  intended  to  be  novel,  extendiuij  from  the  one 

27 


418 


A   TEAM   OF    IRISH    COMEDIANS. 


extreme  ot"  the  so-called  noiit  Irish  huinorist  to  the 
other,  at  which  sttiiuls  the  loiitl-moutluHl,  heel-clicking 
aiul  hcatl-breuking  North  of  Ireland  character ;  but  tlic 
disguise  is  always  thin,  the  eflbrts  of  the  performers 


TONY    HART. 


arc  vapid,  and  all  the  comedians  succeed  in  looking 
pretty  much  alike,  in  saying  the  same  melamholy 
thin"-s,  and  in  betraying  a  kinship  that  is  unmistak- 
able and  strongly  provocative  of  pity. 


A   TEAM   OF   IRISH   COMEDIANS.  419 

A  few  performers  have  been  successful  in  making 
reputations  as  North  of  Ireland  characters,  but  they 
are  very  few.  Ferguson  and  Mack  were  for  a  time  at 
the  head  of  this  class  of  variety  comedians,  but  they 
got  lazy,  failed  to  exhibit  anything  like  extensive  orig- 
inality, and  carted  their  old  jokes  and  stale  "  l)usiness  " 
to  Enghind  and  back,  until  tliey  have  fallen  pretty 
much  to  the  rear  ranks.  Harrio-an  &  Hart,  wlio  have 
a  large  theatre  in  New  York,  and  whose  phiy,  "  Squat- 
ter Sovereignty,"  had  a  run  of  almost  a  year,  are  now 
the  best  known  and  really  the  cleverest  of  the  members 
of  the  profession  who  make  a  specialty  of  Irish  comedy. 
Billy  Barry  and  Hugh  Fay  have  made  fame  and  money 
with  their  laughal)le  "  Muldoon's  Picnic,"  and  there 
are  probably  a  score  of  others  whose  efforts  would  be 
worth  mentioning  if  they  could  be  recalled  at  this  mo- 
ment. As  in  all  other  lines,  however,  the  ranks  have 
been  filled  up  with  men  and  boys  who  are  even  more 
iarnorant  and  ridiculous  off  the  stao^e  than  on  :  who 
have  graduated  from  newspaper  hawking  and  boot 
blacking  routes  to  the  back  door  of  the  stage,  and 
whose  limited  powers  of  mimicry,  whose  retentive 
memories  for  old  and  poor  jokes,  and  whose  rhinoce- 
ros-hide cheek  —  absolute  "gall"  they  would  call  it 
themselves  —  are  their  only  recommendations  to  any 
consideration.  They,  like  all  other  really  bad  actors, 
look  down  upon  every  brother  professional  and  imagine 
that  they  alone  have  attained  to  the  privileged  height 
above  which  there  is  no  firm  foothold  for  anybody 
else.  It  is  the  pleasing  prerogative  of  all  poor  artists 
to  have  hallucinations  of  this  kind,  and  to  dwell  in 
temples  of  fame  that  are  built  upon  the  sands  of  their 
own  imaginations.  Nobody  ever  disabuses  them  of 
their  egotistical  ideas,  and  if  anybody  attempted  to  do 


420  A   TEAM   OF    IlilSII   COMEDIANS. 

SO  he  would l)e  set  down  as  the  very  g^ausiost  of  "  <riiys  " 
for  his  i):uns. 

The  Irish  comedian,  and  es[)ccially  the  cct'iMitric 
gentleman  who  liails  from  the  North  of  Ireland,  has 
muUii>lied  so  rai)idly  of  late  that  the  stock  of  jokes 
with  whic-h  the  oriijinal  North  of  Ireland  comedian 
start«'d  out  many  years  ago  has  been  turned  over  thou- 
sands of  times,  and  occasionally  a  modern  audience 
iictually  ci-y  when  they  are  made  [)arties  to  the  ghoul- 
ish crime  of  resurrecting  the  dead  and  buried  giigs. 
It  is  my  intention  to  licro  present  tiic  jjicture  of  a  team 
of  North  of  Ireland  comedians,  and  give  an  idea  of 
the  nianiKM-  in  wliich  they  amuse  their  audiences;  for 
some  of  the  i)eoplc  who  go  to  the  theatre  are  so  guile- 
less and  so  easily  tickhMl  that  they  find  themselves 
orreatlv  amused  bv  a  diah)irue  teemin<x  with  ancient 
Hil)erniaiiisnis.  Tlu!  stories  chosen  are  in\ariably  of 
the  most  vulgar  and  disgusting  character,  abouiuling 
in  references  and  suggestions  that  would  not  be  lis- 
tcn<'(l  to  outside  of  the  theatre.  The  peddlers  of 
these  rare  bits  of  stage  humor  choose  all  manner  of 
make-u[)s  to  set  olf  their  stock  in  trade.  A  gorgeous 
plaid  suit  with  ])agL;v  1  rousers  and  shoil  coat  top[)ed 
1)V  a  high  white  hat,  and  the  oullit  com])h'ted  with  a 
can(!  ;  or  a  wardrohe  i-onsisting  of  a  semi-res])ectable 
thin-sleeved,  .s((uai"e-tailed  frock  coat  and  high- 
water  broadcloth  })ants,  with  polished  and  lowering 
stove-i)ipc  hat;  or  a  hod-carrier's  rig;  or  any  half- 
idiotic  attempt  to  duplicate  a  workingman's  get-up  — 
a  "  ir:is-hf)Use  tanier,"  who  tells  you  aI)out-  Micky 
DnllV  ha\  ing  got  a  jot)  to  ^\heel  out  smoke  or  to  suck 
wind  from  bladders,  —  any  of  these  maybe  chosen. 
The  clothes  mav  diller,  hut  the  jokes,  the  "  business," 
and  the  facial  i)ictures  will  always  be  found  the  same. 
Caues  und  stove-pipe  huts  —  white  or  black  —  ari3  even 


A  TEAM  OF   IRISH    COMEDIANS.  421 

more  necessary  for  the  success  of  an  Irish  comedian 
than  is  talent  of  any  kind  ;  the  canes  are  used  for 
thumping  the  floor  of  the  stage',  and  the  stove-pipe 
hats  for  banging  each  other  in  the  face,  for  this  class 
of  comedians  always  travel  in  pairs.  There  is  a  great 
deal  of  floor-thumping  and  hat-slapping  in  one  of  their 
acts,  and  among  the  rough  acrobatic  aspirants  to  fame 
the  feet  are  freely  used  upon  each  other,  and  there  is 
a  reckless  lot  of  fallino;  and  tumbling  in  breakneck 
style  upon  the  stage. 

In  making  up  his  face  the  Irish  comedian  generally 
likes  to  indulge  in  a  shrubbery  of  beard  around  the 
neck  under  either  a  clean  shaven  or  stubble-strewn 
chin  ;  if  he  aims  at  anything  like  decency  in  his  ap- 
pearances he  will  affect  only  brushy  side-whiskers.  A 
red  expression  around  the  nose  and  under  the  eyes, 
and  a  red  or  black  wig  to  match  his  special  eccentricity, 
complete  his  needs  in  this  respect.  The  two  speci- 
mens of  Irish  comedians  that  I  have  chosen  for  pre- 
sentation here  were  of  .the  alleged  neat  type  in  their 
profession.  They  were  travelling  with  Tony  Pastor 
when  I  saw  them,  and  in  their  outward  aspect  greatly 
resembled  Harry  and  Johnny  Kernell.  They  were 
credited  with  holding  a  high  position  in  their  particu- 
lar line,  and  their  names  were  on  the  walls  and  fences 
in  letters  a  foot  long ;  in  addition  to  this  they  came  on 
late  in  the  programme,  Avhich  is  always  a  sure  indica- 
tion of  the  importance  of  the  estimate  placed  on  an 
act  or  artist  by  the  management. 

.  But  here  comes  one  of  them.  The  Stein  Sisters 
have  just  finished  a  song-and-dance,  "  the  flat,"  for 
the  street  scene  comes  together,  the  orchestra  with  a 
wild  flourish  of  bass  drum  and  cornet  strikes  up  a 
familiar  Irish  melody,  and,  after  a  few  bars,  one  of  the 
comedians  enters.     He  is  tall,  wears  a  gray  woollen  suit 


422  A   TEAM   OF   IRISH    COMEDIANS. 

of  fasliionablo  cut,  a  hat  that  never  in  the  world  would 
ait  ou  an  Irish  head  ;  a  red-haired  wig,  i)artly  bald,  is 
secMired  under  the  hilt ;  gaiters  with  black  over-gaiters 
clothe  the  feet,  and  the  face  is  smooth  and  genteel, 
except  upon  the  chin,  whence  a  long  thin  beard  pro- 
trudes like  a  plo\vshare.  An  ordinary  twenty-five-cent 
cane  puts  the  finishing  touches  to  his  wardrobe.  He 
looks  like  a  hack-driver  out  for  a  holiday,  or  a  Kerry 
Patch  politician  dressed  for  a  Skirmishing  Fund  picnic. 
He  facesthe  audience  from  the  middle  of  the  lower  part 
of  the  stas^e  as  boldlv  as  if  he  were  going  to  entertain 
them  with  something  new.  He  pretends  to  be  angry, 
and  when  the  music  has  ceased,  begins  to  pace  wildly 
u})  and  down  the  front  of  the  i^tage,  as  ho  shouts  re- 
gardless of  all  the  rules  of  common  sense  and  elo- 
cution :  — 

"  The  oidea  av  callin'  me  a  tarrier  !  Why  a  Span- 
yard  can't  walk  the  shtrcets  nowadays  widout  bein' 
taken  for  a  Mick  or  a  tarrier  !  " 

There  are  always  a  few  indiscreet  people  in  the 
audience  who  laugh  at  this  sally,  and  the  comedian 
goes  on  :  "  But  there's  iiO  use  talkin',  my  b'y's  bad  as 
the  rest  av  'em.  ^Vlliu  he  wint  away  from  home,  two 
years  ago,  he  sez  to  m(\  sez  he  :  '  Father,  whin  you 
hear  from  me  ag'in  I'll  be  President  av  the  United 
States.'  1  got  a  letter  froiu  him  last  week  sayin'  he  was 
wan  av  the  foinest  shoemakers  iii  the  State's  i)rison." 
Tiiis  also  raises  a  laugh,  and  he  continues:  "But 
there's  nawthin'  but  trouble  in  this  wurrld.  The 
other  day  I  bought  a  horse,  and  the  man  tould  me 
he'd  thrf)t  a  mih;  intwominits;  and  be  heavens  he 
could  <1()  it  only  fur  wan  thing  —  the  disthance  is  too 
inucli  I'm-  the  toime.  [Laughter  by  the  audience.] 
Till  lailly  ashamed  ivery  toime  I  take  that  animal  out 
a  roidin',  fur  Fve  got  to  put  a  soign  upon  him  sayin', 


A   TEAM   OF   IRISH   COMEDIANS.  423 

'  This  is  a  horse.'  [Laughter.]  My  woife  an'  her 
mother  tuck  the  horse  out  fur  a  droive  in  the  park  the 
other  day  ;  the  horse  run  away,  the  buggy  upsot,  an' 
my  woife  and  mother-in-haw  war  thrun  out  an'  kilt. 
Now,  whether  you  belave  me  or  not,  more  than  five 
hundred  married  min  have  bin  afther  me  thryin'  to  b'y 
that  horse.  [Laughter  by  the  male  portion  of  the  au- 
dience.] But  I  won't  sell  him,  because  I'm  thinkin' 
av  gettin'  married  ag'in  meself.  [Laughter.]  I've 
got  a  gerrl — she's  a  swate  crayther  av  sixteen  sum- 
mers, several  hard  winters  [titter],  and  I  think  she's 
put  in  a  couple  av  hard  falls  [laughter]  ;  but  she'll 
spring  up  ag'in  all  right.  [Loud  and  indiscriminate 
laughter]  I  tuck  her  to  the  shlaughter-house  the 
other  day  to  see  'em  kill  hogs.  She  wuz  watchin'  'cm 
butcher  the  poor  craythers  whin  all  to  wonst  she  turns 
to  me  an'  sez,  sez  she,  '  Whin'll  yure  turn  come,  dear 
John?'  [Laughter.]  We're  married  now.  My  woife 
is  very  fond  of  cats.  Three  weeks  ago  she  axed  me  to 
make  her  a  prisint  av  wan,  and  I  tuck  wan  home. 
That  noight  the  cat  got  into  my  woife' s  bed-chamber, 
got  into  the  bed,  sucked  her  breath,  and  in  the  mornin' 
my  woife  was  dead.  The  other  noight  I  wint  out  an' 
got  dhrunk,  wint  home  and  got  in  bed ;  the  same  cat 
kem  and  sucked  my  breath,  and  be  heavens  !  whither 
ye  belave  me  or  not,  in  the  mornin'  the  cat  was 
dead!" 

There  are  many  persons  in  the  audience  who  seem 
not  to  have  read  this  story  in  the  original  Greek,  —  for 
it  appears  among  the  queer  things  Hierokles,  the  Joe 
Miller  of  ancient  times,  wrote,' — and  these  persons 
laugh  at  the  ghastly  joke,  while  the  orchestra  gives  a 
chord,  and  the  comedian,  tilting  his  hat  forward,  flour- 
ishing his  cane  and  walking  around  the  stage  with  the 
air  of  a  man  who  has  done  an  act  of  charity  of  which 


424  A   TEAM   OF    lUISII    COMKDIANS. 

he  is  proud,  ut  l:ist  comes  down  to  the  foot-lights  und 


sings  : 


I'm  Levi  McGinnis 
Tlie  alderman!  The  aldenuaul 

I'm  Levi  McGinnis 
The  alderman  so  gay. 

Or  sonic  equally  nonsensical  and  jingling  lines,  after 
which  he  dances  a  few  steps  and  hurriedly  exits.  As 
he  is  going  off  at  one  side  his  partner  comes  on  at  the 
opposite  side  with  another  armful  of  "  chestnuts  "  — 
as  they  call  worn-out  gags,  in  the  show  business.  The 
partner  is  known  as  Solomon  O'Toole.  He  is  dressed 
in  square-cut  frock  coat,  high  vest,  and  short  panta- 
loons, has  a  squatty,  white,  square-top,  stiff  hat,  side- 
whiskers, —  "  Gal  way  sluggers  "  or  "  Carolinas  "  they 
are  usually  called,  —  carries  a  cane,  and  altogether 
from  the  expression  of  his  face  seems  a  quiet  and 
harmless  fellow.  His  tongue  is  broguey  but  clear, 
and  ho  speaks  with  a  rapidity  which  suggests  that  he  is 
either  ashamed  of  what  he  is  saying  or  is  afraid  he  Avill 
forget  some  part  of  it.     lie  says  :  — 

"  Now,  I'm  a  man  can  shtand  a  joak,  but  whin  I  go 
into  a  barber  shop  on  Sunday  mornin'  and  the  colored 
barber  pins  a  newspaper  under  me  chin  an'  hands  me 
a  towel  to  read,  its  goin'  a  little  too  far.  [Laughter.] 
But  whin  a  man  goes  out  in  the  mornin',  these  days, 
there's  no  knowin'  whether  or  not  he'll  come  back 
ag'in  at  night  The  other  day  I  went  to  see  a  friend 
o'  moine  named  fJolin  Gilligaii,  Avho  lives  at  Newton 
Stuart,  about  tin  moilo  from  Poketown,  on  the  Iloir 
an'  Hominy  Road,  an'  he  tuck  me  to  hear  a  South 
Caroliny  pr'acher  who  was  pr'achin'  an  cloquint  sar- 
miu.  Everything  wint  all  roight  until  the  })r'acher 
sez,  8ez  he,  "When  (lod  med  the  fust  man  ho  stud 
him  up  ag'instafiuce  to  dhry  I  "      I  hollered  out,  "Who 


A    TEAM   OF    iRtSir    COMEDIANS.  425 

med  the  fince?"  an'  be  heavens,  they  bounced  me  on 
the  impulse  av  the  momiut.  [Laughter.]  But  az  I 
sed  afore,  whin  a  man  goes  out  iu  the  mornin'  he  never 
knows  what's  goin'  to  happen.  The  other  mornin' 
I  wint  over  to  the  Grand  Pavcific  Hotel  —  I  o-o  there 
every  morning'  ;  there's  a  friend  av  mine  boardiu' 
there  be  the  waik,  an'  whin  he  laves  town  I  jro  over  an' 
ate  his  males  for  him  ;  but  I  wint  over  there  th'  other 
mornin'  an'  picked  up  a  paper  an'  I  read  an  arteckle 
headed  '  The  Chinaise  Must  Go.'  Now,  be  heavens, 
I  don't  want  the  fellow  that's  got  my  three  shurrts  to 
go  until  I  git  'em  back  from  him  ag'in.  [Laughter.] 
A  friend  av  moine  named  GilliGjan  boug-ht  a  o-oat  the 
other  day,  an'  he  goes  about  the  shtreets  atin'  eysther- 
cans  an'  knockin'  the  childher  over  in  the  gutter.  He 
butted  over  a  little  nagur  b'y  th'  other  mornin',  and 
whin  Gilligan  was  taken  to  coort  he  summoned  me  as 
a  witness  for  the  prosecution.  Whin  I  tuck  the  wit- 
ness shtand  the  judge  axed  me  what  me  name  waz,  an' 
I  sed  Michael  Mahoney ;  an'  he  axed  me  what  war  me 
nationality,  whin  be  way  av  a  joak  I  sez,  sez  I, 
'I-talyan,'  an'  be  heavens,  he  gev  me  six  months  for 
perjuree.  [Laughter.]  I  wint  into  a  salune  th'  other 
day ;  some  av  the  ■  b'ys  war  settin'  around  a  table 
play  in'  cassinoe,  an'  whin  they  saw  me  come  in,  one 
av  'em  sez,  sez  he,  '  Luck  out  for  the  Mick,  or  he'll 
swipe  up  all  the  lunch!'  [Laughter.]  I've  got  a 
b'y  that  the  Chicago  base-ball  club  used  for  a  foul 
flag  on  rainy  days.  [Smiles.]  They  threw  a  ball  to 
him  th'  other  day  an'  hit  him  in  th'  eye  ;  I  tuck  him 
to  an  occulist  who  tuck  the  eye  out  an'  laid  it  on  a 
table  ;  be  heavens,  a  cat  kem  along  an'  swallied  the 
eye.  [Smiles.]  The  docthor  tould  me  to  kum 
around  next  day,  an'  I  tuck  the  b'y  wid  me.  The 
occulist  had  cut  out  wan  av  his  cat's  eyes,  an'  he  puts 


42()  A   TKAM   OF    IRISH    COMEDIANS. 

it  into  the  b'ys  head.  [Audible  smiles.]  Now  the 
b'ys  doin'  fust  rate,  only  whin  he  goes  to  Ix'd  at 
noiirht  wan  eye  stczoi)cn  an'  keeps  roaniin'  around  fur 
rats.  [Laui^hter.]  Gilligan  has  got  two  b'ys.  Wan 
av  thini  liasn'  spint  a  cint  fur  two  year  ;  he'll  be  out 
(ofprison  )  in  October.  [Laughter.]  The  other  l)'y 
will  make  his  mark  in  the  world  ;  in  faet  he  metl  his 
mark  on  me  the  other  noight.  He  put  a  tack  on  a 
chair  with  the  belligeriut  ind  to'rds  mo,  an'  whin  I 
wint  to  sit  down  I  got  up  ag'iii  very  suddintly.  I 
don't  care  how  ould  a  mau  is,  or  how  tired  he  is,  whin 
he  sils  down  on  the  belliji-erint  ind  av  a  tack  he  is 
bound  to  assoom  agility  an'  youthfulness.  [Laughter.] 
It  maybe  but  a  momentary  assumjjtion,  but  the  agility 
is  always  there.  The  other  mornin'  I  intered  a  friend's 
salune.  There  war  grape  shkins  on  the  flure,  an'  I 
sez  to  him,  '  How  do  ye  do,  Mr.  Cassidy?  I  see  you 
had  a  party  last  night.'  '  What  makes  you  think 
so?'  sez  he.  '  Because  I  see  the  grape  shkins  on  the 
flure,'  sez  I.  *  Thim's  uot  grape  shkins,'  sez  he ; 
thim's  eyes.  Some  of  the  b'ys  hcd  a  fight  here  lasht 
noight  an'  you're  now  surveyin'  the  baltle-lield.' 
[r^aughter.]  But  T  was  expectin'  a  (Vicnd  av  moine 
down  here,  Levi  McGinnis.  Ah,  here  he  comes. 
Levi,  how  are  you  ?  " 

"  I'm  well,  Solomon,"  says  the  other,  who  has  como 
on  the  stai'e  and  is  shakini;  hands  with  Solomon. 
"  ^^'hat  kept  you  so  (juick?" 

"  I'd  been  here  sooner,"  is  the  smart  r('S[)onsc, 
"  only  1  couldn't  get  down  any  lat(U\" 

"  It  waz  ;i  very  wet  winther  we  had  lashl  winther, 
Solomon?  " 

♦♦Yes.      Did  ynu    luiy  any  rubbers  yet  this  yeai-?  " 

♦♦  Not  this  year." 

♦♦  Goodyear." 


A   TEAM   OF    IRISH    COMEDIANS.  427 

"  Where  did  you  go  when  you  left  me  Ih'  other 
noight?  "  Levi  continues.         * 

"  1  Avent  down  to  the  maskeerade  ball." 

"  I  heard  you  was  there.  They  put  you  out  because 
you  wouldn't  take  your  mask  off  after  12   o'clock." 

"  But  I  didn't  have  any  mask  on.  It  waz  me  own 
face," 

"  That's  what  I  tould  them,"  sa3^s  Levi,  "  but  they 
wouldn't  belave  me." 

This  raises  a  laugh,  Solomon  looks  for  a  moment 
with  astonishment  at  Levi,  then  thumps  his  cane 
against  the  floor  in  an  angry  manner,  and  walks  in  a 
circle  around  the  stage  as  if  terribly  disgusted  at 
having  allowed  himself  to  be  sold.  This  look,^  cane- 
thumping  and  walk-around  are  stereotyped  Hiber- 
nianisms,  and  are  introduced  at  the  end  of  each  "  sell." 
As  Solomon  O'Toole  gets  sold  all  the  time  this  end 
of  the  business  is  as  exclusively  his  as  if  he  had  a 
patent  on  it. 

"  I  went  into  a  salune  thismornin',"  said  Solomon, 
"  to  git  a  glass  av  beer.  I  got  me  beer,  ped  foive 
sints,  and  waz  jist  goin'  to  blow  the  foam  oflfit  when 
somebody  cries  out,  '  Foight !'  I  laid  down  me  beer 
an'  run  out  the  dure  to  see  where  the  foight  waz,  but 
there  was  no  foiijht.  Whin  I  oot  back  me  beer  waz 
gone.  I  called  for  another  glass  an'  waz  goin'  to 
dhrink  it  down,  when  somebody  shouts,  '  Foire  !  ' 
Now  I  Avanted  to  see  the  foire  an'  I  didn't  want  to 
lose  me  beer,  so  I  pulls  out  a  bit  av  pincil  an'  paper 
an'  wroites  on  it,  '  I  have  shpit  in  this  beer.'  When 
I  puts  the  paper  on  tap  av  the  beer  an'  wint  out  to  see 
the  foire.  There  was  no  foire,  an'  what  do  you  think 
happin'd  whin  I  got  back?  " 

"  Your  beer  waz  gone,"  said  Levi. 

*'  No  it  wazn't,"  Solomon  interposed.     "  The  beer 


428  A   TEAM   OF   lUISlI    COMEDIANS. 

waz  there  an'  the  bit  av  paper  waz  on  tap  av  it,  but 
some  sucker  had  wrote  roight  andcr  my  wroitin',  '  So 
hevl.'" 

The  conclusion  of  the  story  is  ot*  course  greeted  with 
hiughter. 

"  Here,  Solomon,"  says  -Levi,  "  I  want  to  make 
you  a  prisent." 

*'  An'  what's  this?  "  Asks  Solomon,  examining  the 
article  that  has  been  handed  to  him. 

"A  shoe  horn." 

"An'  what  do  I  want  wid  an  ould  shoe  horn?" 

"  Thry  an'  get  your  hat  on  your  head  with  it"  an- 
swers Levi,  amid  an  outburst  of  merriment  from  the 
audience. 

"How  louse  can  a  man  live  widout  br.iins?"  is 
Solomon's  next  conundrum. 

"  T  don't  know,"  says  Levi.  "  How  ould  are  you 
now?  "      [Laughter.] 

"  What  is  a  i)late  of  hash?  "  Levi  asks; 

"An  insult  to  a  s(|uaro  meal,"  Solomon  answers 
triumi)hantly. 

"  Thin  you  can  shtand  more  insults  than  any  other 
man  1  ever  saw,"  says  Levi,  whereat  Solomon's  indig- 
nation causes  him  to  manoeuvre  to  the  right  of  stage 
in  proper  position  for  the  next  question. 

"What's  the  dilf'rence  betwane  you  and  a  jack- 
ass? "  he  asks,  looking  sternly  at  Levi. 

The  latter  measures  the  iloor  with  his  eye,  and  an- 
swers, "About  twelve  foot."  Solomon  (humps  his 
cane  ajrainst  the  floor  once  more,  looks  bereft  of  all 
the  pleasure  he  ever  possessed  on  earth,  and  moving  up 
to  Levi,  says  :  — 

"  No,  that's  not  the  roight  answer." 

"Well,  "  says  Levi,  "  I'd  loike  to  know  what  is  the 
ditf 'rince  betwane  you  an'  a  jackass?" 


A    TEAM    OF    IRISH    COMEDIANS.  429 

"No  cliff 'rlnce,"  shouts  Solotnou,  throwing  up  his 
hands, and  coming  down  the  stage  shaking  with  laughter. 
Suddenly  the  fact  dawns  upon  him  that  he  has  made 
a  mule  of  himself.  His  face  assumes  a  bewildered  ex- 
pression, and  he  hastily  returns  from  the  scene  fol- 
lowed by  Levi  McGinniss,  while  the  orchestra  stril^es 
up  a  lively  air  in  anticipation  of  the  encore  which  is  to 
call  the  comedians  out  to  do  a  wild  Irish  reel. 

This  is  a  fair  sample  of  the  dialogue  indulged  in  by 
a  team  of  Irish  comedians  of  average  ability,  and  the 
reader  will  at  once  understand  from  it  what  ridic- 
ulous and  almost  disgusting  language  and  incidents 
are  made  use  of  to  raise  a  laugh,  and  how  very  easy  it 
is  to  please  a  variety  theatre  audience.  Pat  Rooney's 
shrug  of  the  shoulders  and  Land-League  phiz,  or  some- 
body else's  queer  walk  becomes  the  rage,  and  imme- 
diately there  are  a  hundred  weak  and  pitiful  imitators. 
So,  too,  with  such  a  dialogue  as  the  foregoing;  it 
seems  to  "  catch  on  "  with  the  public,  and  every  Irish 
comedian  on  the  stage  must  appropriate  at  least  a  por- 
tion of  it, — and  usually  the  very  worst  portion.  It 
is  safe  to  assume  that  the  variety  stage  to-day  has 
no  so-called  North  of  Ireland  Irishman  who  does  not 
flino;  at  least  a  half-dozen  of  the  sorrv  witticisms  I  have 
here  given,  at  the  heads  of  his  audience.  There  is  no 
law  against  it,  — no  protection  for  the  patrons  of  the 
theatres,  who  can  do  nothing  else  than  to  grin  and 
stand  it,  —  and  therefore  the  Irish  comedian  and  his 
"  chestnuts  "  forever  flourish  in  this  land  of  the  free 
and  home  of  the  brave. 


CIIArXER    XXX. 


THE    IJLACK    AKT. 


Tho  l)l;ick  nrt,  as  the  art  of  magic  is  termed,  lias 
arriv(>d  at  a  degree  of  pci'fectiou  that  is  aiuazing. 
Tho  magicians  of  the  Orient  for  a  long  time  Averc  held 
np  as  superior  to  any  rivals  outside  their  country. 
They  sat  in  the  streets,  and  without  paraphernalia 
caused  flowers  to  Imrst  from  i)ots  of  earth  and  spring 
into  instantaneous  growth  ;  they  had  their  then  wonder- 
ful l)asket  trick,  in  which  a  l)oy,  having  entered  a  l)askct, 
to  all  appearances  just  large  enough  to  receive  hiin,  re- 
mained there  while  the  mai^ician  ran  his  sword  throuirh 
the  basket  in  all  directions,  after  which  the  boy  came 
forth  unharmed  ;  there  were  sword  swallowers  amonir 
them,  and  altogether  their  skill  in  and  knowledge  of 
the  art  of  mystifying  was  considered  beyond  reproach. 
The  Chinese,  too,  i)rofess  to  be  irood  iuirijlers  and 
magicians,  and  so  they  are.  IJiit  thc^  Europeans  .and  the 
Americans  have  stepped  in,  and  the  Hindoo  and  the 
Chinaman  may  now  go  to  the  rear  in  magic.  Iloudin, 
Heller,  Macallister,  and  Hermann  have  done  tricks  far 
superior  to  anything  th(!  Eastern  wonder-workers  are 
capable  of,  cither  in  the  way  of  mechanical  intricacy  or 
manual  dexterity.  The  latter  feature  is  ciiltivatrd  en- 
tirely, and  you  no  longer  see  the  magician's  stage -cov- 
ered high  and  low  with  glittering  paraphernalia,  whose 
brightness  was  beautilully  set  olV  by  the  black  velvet 
hangings  in  the  1)ackground.  Now  there  is  nothing 
presented  to   the  view  of  the  audience  except   a   small 

(430) 


THE   BLACK   ART.  431 

table  in  the  centre  of  the  stage.  Taking  Mr.  Hermann, 
for  example  :  This  magician  comes  out  in  full  even- 
ing dress,  with  coat  sleeves  pushed  back  revealing  his 
immaculate  shirt  cuffs  and  gorgeous  sleeve  buttons. 
Whatever  articles  he  will  inject  into  his  tricks  he  car- 
ries in  the  capacious  pockets  of  his  coat  or  in  the 
palm  of  his  hand.  He  introduces  himself  pleasantly 
to  the  audience  in  his  broken  English,  and  at  once  the 
performance  begins.  From  that  time  on  until  the  last 
illusion  is  given  the  audience  remains  in  darkness  as 
to  his  methods.  He  seldom  leaves  the  stasfe,  iroino- 
only  up  to  the  last  entrance,  where,  by  standing 
against  the  projecting  wing  his  confederate  can  fill  his 
pockets  with  what  he  need^.  A  magician's  coat  looks 
like  a  very  common-place  effort  at  the  swallow-tail  ar- 
ticle. That's  all  it  is  exteriorly,  but  if  you  got  a 
glimpse  of  the  side  the  lining  is  on,  you  will  find  from 
eight  to  a  dozen  large  and  small  pockets  in  the  gar- 
ment. Two  of  the  pockets  are  huge  affairs,  running 
from  the  front  edge  back  under  the  arms,  thus  leav- 
ing a  wide  mouth,  so  that  large  articles  can  quickly  be 
dropped  into  them. 

Hermann  is  a  great  trickster,  not  only  on  the 
stage,  but  off.  He  walked  into  a  barber-shop  in  Mem- 
phis one  day,  went  up  to  the  place  where  the  razors 
were  kept,  and  taking  up  one,  calmly  cut  his  throat, 
standing  before  the  glass  after  the  gash  had  been 
made,  and  with  evident  pleasure  regarding  the  profuse 
flow  of  blood  from  the  wound.  The  barbers  and  their 
customers  ran  wildly  into  the  streets  yelling  like  a 
tribe  of  Feejees  around  a  barbecue  of  roast  missionary. 
They  called  the  police,  and  raised  a  small  riot  in  their 
immediate  neighborhood.  The  police  came  and  entered 
the  shop,  only  to  find  Hermann  coming  forward  to 
greet  them,  laughing  and  remarking  that  it  was  only  a 


432 


THE    BLACK   ART. 


little  practical  joke.  There  was  not  the  slightest  siirn 
of  any  wound  upon  his  throat,  and  it  was  only  when 
the  barbers  were  told  that  it  was  Hermann,  the  macri- 
cian,  that  they  could  be  brought  to  believe  that  he  had 
not  really  cut  his  throat  throuidi,  and  then  l)y  some 
wonderful  healing  art  closed  the  gap  again. 


IIKUMANN's    «*  SKLL." 

During  his  engagement  in  New  York  last  season, 
the  famous  magician  demoralize*!  a  waiter  and  the 
proprietor  of  a  German  beer  saloon  by  making  tho 
foaming  glass  appear  and  disappear,  and  in  receiving 
the  accurate  chanfro  of  a  five-dollar  note  counted  it  be- 


THE    BLACK    ART.  433 

fore  the  chagrined  proprietor  and  made  it  appear  that 
the  amount  returned  was  $12,  which  he  coolly  pock- 
eted. But  his  best  trick  was  the  "sell"  he  per- 
petrated on  the  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty 
to  Children.  He  had  it  announced  that  he  would  re- 
sume his  old  feat  of  blowins;  a  child  from  a  cannon, 
and  making  it  appear  safe  and  sound  in  the  gallery  of 
the  theatre.  This  set  the  society  in  arms  at  once. 
He  was  notified  that  if  he  tried  it  the  child  (an  appren- 
tice) would  be  taken  from  him.  He  replied  that  he 
was  going  to  rehearse  the  feat  on  Thursday  morning, 
anyhow ;  whereupon  an  agent  of  the  society,  with  a 
writ  of  habeas  corpus,  rushed  upon  the  scene.  Just 
as  he  was  about  to  ram  the  child  into  the  [:iece  of 
heavy  ordnance  aimed  at  the  gallery  of  the  Grand 
Opera  House,  the  agent  seized  it  and  a  tussel  ensued 
between  him  and  the  magician.  In  the  pulling  and 
hauling  one  of  the  legs  of  the  disputed  youngster  came 
off,  and  it  was  dicovered  that  it  was  only  a  gigantic, 
well-made-up  doll.  The  agent  escaped  amid  roars  of 
laughter,  leaving  his  trophy  behind.  The  press,  too, 
had  been  sold  by  the  trick,  so  none  of  the  papers  pub- 
lished the  item. 

Much  as  Hermann  has  sold  others,  he  has  been  pretty 
badly  sold  himself.  I  remember  one  night  while  Her- 
mann was  playing  South,  and  doing  his  cabinet  trick, 
some  of  the  boys  around  the  theatre  put  up  a  job  on 
him  that  resulted  disastrously  as  far  as  the  trick  was 
concerned.  The  cabinet  is  a  large  contrivance  greatly 
resembling  the  huge  refrigerators  in  use  in  grocery 
stores,  and  some  who  know,  say,  bearing  a  great  re- 
semblance to  saloon  refrigerators.  It  has  a  false  back 
and  is  so  constructed  that  one  or  more  persons  may  be 
hidden  in  the  rear  compartment.  In  the  trick  Her- 
mann makes  use  of  two  colored   boys,  who   must  be 


434  TIIK    BLACK    AIIT. 

alike  in  size  and  facial  ap[)earaiice.  Only  one  of  the 
boys  figures  in  the  trick  at  first,  going  through  a  funny 
bit  of  play  and  dialogue  with  the  magician,  until  at 
last  he  leaves  the  stage  to  get  a  knife  with  which  to 
combat  a  big  monkey  that  has  been  locked  u[)  in  the 
cabinet.  When  boy  No.  1  goes  off  the  stage  for  a 
knife  boy  No.  2  comes  back  with  it  and  is  hurriedly 
pushed  into  the  cabinet.  Meanwhile  boy  No.  1  h.is 
left  the  stai!:e-doorand  is  runnin<j:  fast  as  he  can  around 
the  block.  The  magician  after  standi ni>:  at  the  cal)inet 
a  few  minutes — just  long  enough  to  allow  boy  No.  1 
to  get  to  the  front  entrance  of  the  theatre  —  opens  the 
door,  and  lo  !  boy  No.  2  is  gone.  *'Boyee!  Boy-ee  !  " 
the  magician  shouts,  "  Say  boy-ee  w'ere  are  you, 
boy-ee?"  "Here  I  is,  boss,"  the  boy  shouts,  rush- 
ing breathlessly  up  the  aisle.  The  trick  surprises 
everybody,  and  is  a  good  one.  On  the  occasion  I  refer 
to,  the  *' boys  "  got  a  p(;liceman  to  arrest  the  lad 
while  he  was  running  around  from  the  back  to  the 
front  door.  The  blue-coat  took  him  to  the  station  and 
Hermann  shouted  in  vain  for  his  "  boy-ee,"  and  was 
finally  ol)liged  to  close  the  trick  without  the  appear- 
ance of  his  darkey  confederate. 

As  I  have  spoken  above  about  the  jugglers  and 
tricksters  of  the  Orient  1  may  as  well  say  that  I  wit- 
nessed the  performances  of  the  trickster  who  was  in 
Harry  French's  Hindoo  troupe.  There  was  nothing 
marvellous  in  his  feats,  the  boy-and-l)asket  trick  alone 
being  the  only  thing  of  an  astonishing  character  that 
he  presented,  and  that  being  susceptible  of  easy  expla- 
nation, the  boy  being  light  and  sup[)le  and  c:i[)ablo  of 
moving  or  contracting  his  body  so  as  to  kei^p  out  of 
the  way  of  the  sword  thrusts,  which  by  the  way  were 
not  of  a  violent  character.  In  a  private  entertainment 
given  l)y  this  juggler  he  ap|)('ar(Ml    moiH^  awkward  and 


THE    BLACK   ART.  435 

clumsier  iliaii  many  an  amateur  who  undertakes  to  fur- 
nish a  parlor  entertainment  for  his  friends.  It  was 
evident  that  he  would  undergo  suffering  and  pain  for 
the  success  of  a  trick,  as  he  took  an  ordinary  wooden 
tooth-pick  and  while  pretending  to  push  it,  in  its  en- 
tirety, into  one  corner  of  his  eye,  actually  did  push 
part  of  it  in,  not  having  broken  it  off  short  enough  in 
the  process  of  concealing  it.  Again  he  swallowed  a 
yard  of  black  thread,  and  taking  a  knife  cut  a  small 
opening  in  his  side  and  brought  forth  a  yard  of  black 
thread  that  had,  of  course,  been  concealed  there  before- 
hand. The  thread  was  bloody  and  was  drawn  slowly 
from  its  place  of  concealment. 

A  correspondent  writing  from  China  about  the  street 
jugglers  to  be  seen  there,  says:  "  Sword-swallowing 
and  stone-eating  appear  to  be  the  commonest  feats, 
and  operators  of  this  description  may  be  found  in 
almost  every  street.  One  fellow,  however,  performed 
a  number  of  feats  in  front  of  our  hotel,  which  demand 
from  me  more  than  a  passing  notice.  He  stationed 
himself  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  and  having  blown 
a  buo-le-blast  to  give  warning  that  he  was  about  to 
begin  his  entertainment,  he  took  a  small  lemon  or 
orange  tree,  which  was  covered  with  fruit,  and  bal- 
anced it  upon  his  head.  He  then  blew  a  sort  of  chir- 
ruping whistle,  when  immediately  a  number  of  rice 
birds  came  from  every  direction,  and  settled  upon  the 
boughs  of  the  bush  he  balanced  or  fluttered  about  his 
head.  He  then  took  a  cup  in  his  hand,  and  began  to 
rattle  some  seeds  in  it,  when  the  birds  disappeared. 
Taking  a  small  bamboo  tube,  he  next  took  the  seeds 
and  putting,  one  in  it  blew  it  at  one  of  the  fruit,  when 
it  opened  and  out  flew  one  of  the  birds,  which  flut- 
tered about  the  circle  surrounding  the  performer.  He 
continued   to    shoot   the   seeds    at   the  oranges  until 


436  THE   BLACK   ART. 

nearly  a  dozen  birds  were  released.  He  then  removed 
the  tree  from  his  foreliead,  and  setting  it  down,  took 
up  a  dish,  which  he  held  above  his  head,  wlicn  all  the 
birds  flew  into  it,  then  covered  it  over  Avith  a  cover, 
and  giving  it  a  whirl  or  two  about  his  head,  opened  it 
and  dis[)layed  a  (juantity  of  eggs,  the  shells  of  which 
he  broke  with  a  little  stick,  releasing  a  bird  from  each 
shell.  The  trick  was  neatly  performed,  and  defied 
detection  from  my  eyes.  The  next  trick  was  equally 
astonishing  and  difficult  of  detection.  Borrowinii:  a 
handkerchief  from  one  of  his  spectators,  he  took  an 
orange,  cut  a  small  hole  in  it,  then  scjueezed  all  the  juice 
out,  and  crammed  the  handkerchief  into  it.  Giving 
the  orange  to  a  bystander  to  hold,  he  caught  up  a 
teapot  and  began  to  pour  a  cup  of  tea  from  it,  when 
the  spout  became  clogged.  Looking  into  the  pot, 
apparently  to  detect  what  was  the  matter,  ho  pulled 
out  the  handkerchief  and  returned  it  to  the  owner. 
He  next  took  the  orange  from  the  bystander  and  cut  it 
open,  when  it  was  found  to  be  full  of  rice." 

Two  of  the  finest  tricks  now  on  the  stage  are  the 
rerial  sus[)ension  and  the  Indian  box-trick.  The  latter 
I  explain  in  the  next  chapter.  The  atrial  suspension, 
which  is  best  seen  in  Prof.  Seeman's  performances, 
consists  in  apparantly  mesmerizing  a  young  lady 
while  she  is  standing  on  a  stool  between  two  upright 
bars,  uj)on  each  of  Avhich  slu;  rests  an  elbow.  When 
she  is  in  the  mesmeric  state  the  stool  is  removed, 
leaving  her  suspended  upon  both  elbows  ;  then  one 
of  the  1)ars  —  that  uinlcr  the  Icl't  ell)ow  —  is  removed, 
and  the  fair  subject  slill  remains  motionless,  her  entire 
weiirht  resting  ui)on  th(^  ell)ow  of  the  right  arm,  which 
is  extended  out  from  the  bod}',  with  the  hand  thrown 
easily  and  gracefully  against  the  check.  Next,  her 
figure  is   pushed  out    from    the    bar   through  various 


THE   BLACK   ART.  437 

angles,  until  at  last  she  reclines  upon  her  strange 
rerial  couch,  which  is  scarcely  more  than  one 
inch  in  diameter.  The  illusion  is  a  beautiful  one, 
and  astonishes  all  who  see  it.  Occasionally  the 
creaking  of  tlie  steel  joints  under  the  elbow  is  heard 
out  in  the  audience,  "  o:ivino-  awav  "  the  feat,  for  the 
actual  fact  is  that  the  young  lady  is  not  in  a  mesmeric 
condition,  but  is  held  in  position  by  a  steel  armor 
worn  under  her  costume,  with  a  joint  at  the  elbow 
that  fits  into  the  upright  bar,  where  a  powerful  sj'stem 
of  leverage  holds  the  body  in  any  position  desired. 

Hermann's  bird  trick  is  a  fine  one.  He  comes  be- 
fore the  audience  with  a  livino;  bird  in  a  small  caoe 
held  between  both  hands,  and  "  Wan  I  Two  !  T'ree  !  " 
with  a  sudden  movement,  and  without  turning  away 
from  the  audience  spreads  his  arms,  when,  lo  !  the  bird 
and  cage  have  disappeared.  The  explanation  given  by 
some  is  that  the  cao:e  is  made  of  rubber,  which,  when 

C;  7  7 

released  envelopes  the  bird  in  a  sort  of  sack  which 
flies  up  the  magician's  sleeve. 

Nearly  every  young  man  in  the  land  who  has  seen 
a  magician  on  the  stage,  wants  to  master  the  black 
art.  It  is  very  easy  for  him  to  do  so.  All  he  needs 
is  a  great  deal  of  what  is  vulgarlj^  known  as  "  cheek," 
and  termed  in  theatrical  slang,  "  gall,"  a  quick  eye, 
and  ease  and  rapidity  of  movement  in  handling  articles. 
The  first  thing  to  be  learned  is  the  art  of  "  palming  " — 
concealing  small  objects  in  the  palm  of  the  hand. 
Coins,  balls,  handkerchiefs,  etc.,  are  hidden  in  this 
way,  being  held  in  the  open  hand  by  the  pressure  of 
the  fleshy  part  of  the  thumb.  In  this  way  the  shower 
of  coin  and  many  like  tricks  are  done.  When  the  art 
of"  palming"  is  understood,  rapidity  of  movement  is 
the  next  thing,  and  then  come  the  mechanical  and 
other  tricks. 


438  THE   BLACK   AKT. 

Only  the  okl-school  magicians  —  tlio  fakirs — retain 
the  fire-eating  trick  in  their  entertainments.  Any 
school-boy  can  do  it  now,  as  the  preparation  for  it  is 
very  simple.  By  anointing  the  tongue  with  liquid 
storax,  a  red-hot  poker  may  be  licked  cool,  or  coals  taken 
from  the  fire  may  l)e  placed  upon  the  tongue  and  left 
there  until  they  become  black..  To  any  person  who 
has  an  appetite  for  flames,  or  for  -whom  five-cent 
■whiskey  is  not  fiery  enough,  a  trial  of  this  trick  will  be 
gratifying.  And  should  there  be  a  desire  to  walk  on 
fire  or  on  red-hot  iron,  let  the  aspiring  salamander 
take  half  an  ounce  of  camphor,  dissolve  it  in  two  ounces 
of  aqua  vitiB,  add  to  it  one  ounce  of  quicksilver,  one 
ounce  of  liquid  storax,  Avhich  is  the  dro[)pings  of  myrrh, 
and  prevents  the  camphor  from  firing  ;  take  also  two 
ounces  of  hematis,  which  is  red  stone,  to  be  had  at  the 
druggist's.  Let  them  beat  it  to  a  powder  in  their 
great  mortar,  for  l)eing  very  hard  it  cannot  well  be  re- 
duced in  a  small  one  ;  add  this  to  the  iuirredients  al- 
ready  specified,  and  when  the  walking  is  to  be  done 
anoint  the  feet  with  the  preparation,  when  the  ti'ick 
mav  be  accomplished  without  the  sliirhtest  danirer. 

If  anyl)ody  desires  to  be  ghastly  in  his  trickery,  he 
may  cut  a  nmn's  head  off  and  put  it  in  a  platter  a  yard 
from  his  body.  This  is  done  by  causing  a  board,  a 
cloth,  and  a  platter  to  1)0  purposely  made  with  holes  in 
each  to  fit  a  boy's  neck.  The  board  must  be  made  of 
two  })lanks,  the  longer  and  broader  the  better  ;  there 
must  be  left  within  half  a  yanl  of  the  end  of  each  jjlank 
half  a  hole,  that  both  the  planks  being  put  together, 
there  may  remain  two  holes  like  those  in  a  pair  of 
stocks.  There  must  be  made,  likewise,  a  hole  in  the 
cloth  ;  a  platter  having  a  hole  of  the  same  size  in  the 
middh;,  and  having  a  piece  taken  out  at  one  side  the 
size    of    the    neck,  so    that    he    may   place    his    head 


THE   BLACK   AIlT.  439 

above  ;  must  be  set  directly  over  it ;  then  the  boy 
sitting  or  kneeling  under  the  board  must  let  the  head 
only  remain  upon  the  board  in  the  frame.  To  make 
the  sight  more  dreadful,  put  a  little  brimstone  into  a 
chafing-dish  of  coals,  and  set  it  before  the  head  of  the 
boy,  who  must  gasp  two  or  three  times  that  the  smoke 
may  enter  his  nostrils  and  mouth,  and  the  head  pres- 
ently will  appear  stark  dead,  and  if  a  little  blood  be 
sprinkled  on  his  face,  the  sight  will  appear  more 
dreadful.  This  is  commonly  practised  with  boys  in- 
structed for  that  purpose.  At  the  other  end  of  the 
table,  where  the  other  hole  is  made,  another  boy  of  the 
same  size  as  the  first  boy  must  be  placed,  his  body  on 
the  table  and  his  head  through  the  hole  in  the  table, 
at  the  opiDosite  end  to  where  the  head  is  which  is  ex- 
hibited . 


CHAPTER    XXXr. 


THE    INDIAN    BOX-AND-BASKET    TRICK. 


The  Indiiiu  box-and-basket  trick  was  for  a  long  time 
a  mystery  even  among  magicians,  and  now  it  pnzzles 
astnte  people  to  understand  how  the  young  man  or 
young  woman  who  has  been  tied  in  a  sack  and  placed 
under  lock  and  key  in  a  wicker  basket  on  top  of  a  box 
not  only  locked  and  sealed  but  tied  in  all  directions 
with  stout  rope,  can  get  out  of  the  sack  and  basket 
and  into  the  box  within  very  few  minutes.  In  1873 
Barnuai  paid  £1,000  to  a  London  trickster  for  the  so- 
called  mystery-  This  extraordinary  feat  which  puz- 
zled the  knowing  ones  for  so  long  a  time  was  explained 
to  me  once  by  a  magician,  and  will  be  found  so  simple 
as  to  astonish  those  who  read  the  exi)lanati()n. 

The  magician  begins  by  announcing  the  trick  ;  he 


tl 


icn 


brings 


on 


Fig.  I- 


the  staf2:e  a  larjje 
wooden  box-like 
trunk  (  Fig.  1  ) 
with  hinges  and 
has[)s  on  it.  A 
c  oni  in  i  1  t  ('  (;  is 


generally  called  from  the  audience  to  examine 
the  })nx  to  sec  that  there  is  no  deccplion  in  its 
apparent  stoutness.  They  look  it  over  and  ovci-  and 
discover  nothing.  Tin^y  then  lock  the  box,  retain  the 
keys,  and  stop  up  the  key-holes  with  sealing-wax.  The 
committ(!0  also,  amid  the  siionts  of  the  audience  to 
(440) 


THE   INDIAN  BOX-AND-BASKKT  TRICK. 


441 


"  tie  it  up  tight,"  wind  rope  around  the  box  in  all  di- 
rections, making  innumerable  knots  and  using  every 
effort  to  secure  the  box  firmly.  Then  on  top  of  the 
box  is  placed  a  board  about  as  wide  as  the  lid  of  the 
box,  and    on  the  opposite   ends  of  which  are   heavy 

plate  staples. 
(Fig. 2.)  The 
magician's 
j^-ig  2.  assistant  now 

steps  to  the  foot-lights  and  is  introduced  to  the  crowd 
he,  or  she,  is  to  astonish.  A  sack  is  brought  forward, 
the  assistant  lightly  mounts  to  the  board  on  top  of  the 
box,  gets  into  the  sack,  within  which  there  is  generally 
a  stool,  so  that  the  jDcrson  inside  may  sit  down.  The 
magician  begins  to  tie  up  the  sack  ;  he  gathers  the  top 
of  it  in  his  hands,  and  in  the  ii^antime  the  assistant 
thrusts  through  the  opening  a  portion  of  another  sack, 
and  with  his  hands  over  his  head  holds  in  place  the 
gathered  end  of  the  sack  in  which  he  is  concealed 
while  the  magician-  ties  a  rope  around  the  false  end. 
The  basket  is  a 
high,  comical- 
shaped  wicker  af- 
fair, with  a  heavy 
ring  around  its 
mouth  and  two 
large  staples  at 
opposite  sides. 
(Fig.  3.)  When 
the  basket  is 
placed  over  the 
assistant,  the  sta- 
ples in  its  ring 
fit    exactly    over 

those    on     the  mg.  3. 

board    above  the  box ;   padlocks  are  passed  through 


442  THE   INDIAN   BOX-AND-BASKET   TRICK. 

the  staples  and  locked,  the  comniiltec  hold  the 
key,  and  sealing-wax  is  again  applied  to  the  key- 
hole. The  trick  is  now  ready,  the  magician  draws 
a  screen  across  to  hide  the  box  and  basket  from  the 
andience,  and  usnally  within  two  minutes  the  signal  is 
given  that  the  feat  has  been  accomplislied.  Sometimes 
this  signal  is  a  pistol  shot ;  at  other  times  a.  whistle. 
The  screen  is  thrown  aside,  the  seals  on  the  locks  are 
un1)roken  ;  everything  is  in  exactly  the  position  in  which 
the  committee  left  it,  tiie  ropes  remain  securely  tied, 
seem  undisturbed,  and  on  opening  tlie  1)ox,  which  is 
still  stout  and  innocent-looking  as  ever,  the  assistant 
tumbles  out  and  the  tri(tk  comes  to  an  end  amid  the 
wild  plaudits  of  the  audience  and  an  occasional  uncom- 
plimentary hoot  at  the  committeemen. 

How  is  it  done?  The  siini)le-looking  contrivance 
that  forms  the  foundation  of  tiie  mvstery  is  nothinj; 
more  or  less  than  a  trick-])()x.  Along  the  edijres  of  the 
front,  back  and  ends  are  fastened  stout  battens,  as  can 
be  seen  in  the  cut.  These  battens  ai'e  screwed  to  the 
boards  which  form  the  upper  part  of  the  box.  The 
lower  boards  at  front  and  back  and  both  ends  are  sim- 
ply sliding  panels.  The  parts  of  these  panels  which 
come  directly  behind  the  battens  are  tilled  with  iron 
plat  OS  pierced  with  holes  of  the  shape  to  be  seen  in 

Fig.  4.  The  screws  on  the  lower 
l)artsof  th(!  batten  are  dummies 
—  that  is,  they  go  o\\\y  partly 
through  the  battens,  and  do 
^'"J-'^-  ^     not  reach    the   panels.     On  the 

inner  sides  of  the  battens  are  iron  plates,  each  carry- 
ing a  stud,  so  that  when  the  parts  of  the  panel  plates 
marked  A  come  directly  opposite  the  studs  of  the  bat- 
tens, the  panel,  if  pressed  or  pushed,  will  fall  inside 
the  box  ;  but  if  the  studs  bo  jircssed  through  yl,  and 


THE   INDIAN   BOX-AND-BASKET   TRICK. 


443 


the  panels  shoved  along  so  that  the  shanks  of  the  studs 
slide  through  the  slatted  parts,  B,  the  panels  will  be 
locked  securely.  The  unsuspicious  air-holes  you  see 
in  the  panels  are  there  for  a  purpose  ;  the  performer 
uses  them  to  give  him  a  purchase,  so  that  either  with 
his  fingers  or  by  means  of  a  small  iron  rod  he  may 
slide  the  panels  backward  or  forward. 

There  is  another  piece  of  trickery  in  the  construc- 
tion of  the  board  that  rests  on  the  box  and  upon  which 
the  basket  is  placed.  The  plate  staples  are  "  crooked  ; " 
that  is,  the  staples  are  not  of  a  piece  with  the  plates, 
but  are  separate  ;  they  are  made  with  a  shoulder,  and 
on  each  of  the  ends  which  fit  tightly  into  holes  through 
the  plates,  there  is  an  oval-shaped  hole,  as  shown  in 
Fig.  5.  Inside  the  board  are  two 
double  bolts  w^hich  pass  through 
these  holes  and  keep  the  staples 
in  place.  The  person  under  the 
basket  passes  a  thin  steel  blade 


between   the    boards    and   slides  p ; 

back  the   bolts  at  one  end.     He    ^ 

then  lifts  the  basket,  and  with  it 

the    staple.     Once    outside    the 

basket  he  replaces  it  against  the 

staple    in    the    plate,  pushes    it  tig-o. 

down,    its    rounded     ends     acting    like    wedges     to 

pushing   the  bolts  back,   which  come  together  again 

through   the    oval    holes    of  the    staple,    locking    it 

firmly  to  the  board  again.     All  that  remains  to  be 

done,  then,  is  to  slide  the  panel  of  the  box,  push  it 

in,  creep  through  the  closely  woven  ropes  and  inside 

the  box,  put  the  panel  back  in  its  place  and  the  trick 

is  at  an  end. 

Occasionally  a  performer  does  not  find  it  as  easy  to 
do  this  trick  as  it  reads  here.     He  may  sometimes  get 


444  TIIK    INDIAX    BOX-AND-IJASKKT   TRICK. 

stuck  ill  the  basket,  or  may  find  it  impossihle  to  get 
into  the  box.  The  sack  is  no  troiil)le"  to  him  at  all, 
for  he  is  never  really  tied  in  the  saek,  —  all  lu;  has  to 
do  is  to  crawl  out  of  it.  Caral)<>fral)a,  I  think  it  was, 
while  cxhii)itin<2:  the  Indian  box-triek  in  Chieairo  at  the 
Adelphi  Theatre,  in  1874,  met  with  tin  accident  that 
set  the  house  in  an  uproar,  and  came  near  precipitat- 
ing a  panic.  His  assistant,  who  had  succeeded  in  get- 
ting out  of  the  l)asket,  snapped  in  two  a  small  iron  rod 
he  used  for  sliding  the  ])anel,  and  despite  a  long  and 
desperate  effort  could  not  succeed  in  opening  the  box. 
All  he  could  do  was  to  come  from  behind  the  screen, 
walk  to  the  foot-liirhts  and  beg  to  be  excused.  An 
expert  rope-tier  had  secured  the  box,  as  one  of  the 
committee  called  upon  to  do  so,  and  the  juidience  cred- 
iting the  expert  with  the  failure  of  the  tricdc,  cried 
fraud,  and  grew  greatly  excited.  They  would  listen 
to  no  explanation  until  Leonard  (xrovcr,  then  manager 
of  the  Adelphi,  came  forward  and  promised  that  the 
trick  would  be  performed  later  in  the  evening,  and 
that,  in  the  meantime,  the  box  should  remain  in  full 
sight  of  the  audience,  i)oth  of  which  promises  were 
faithfully  kept. 

As  it  always  takes  some  time  to  do  this  trick,  the 
ma<T^ician  has  some  kind  of  a  '<  uhost  storv  "  fixed  up 
to  entertain  his  audience.  An  old  ex-conjurer,  writing 
in  /Scrih)ier\s  Mont  hi  1/  on  the  subject,  gave  the  follow- 
ing talk,  with  which  he  usually  diverted  his  patrons 
while  his  assistant  was  getting  into  the  box  :  — 

"And  apropos  of  spiritualism,"  I  would  say,  "  I 
will,  with  vour  permission,  relate  the  advcntui'c  of  a 
seiwant  girl  at  a  spiritual  seance.  Miss  Ilonora  Mur- 
phv,  a  young  female  (Mig.ig(<l  in  the  honorable  and 
praiseworthy  occupation  of  general  housework  merely 
to  dispel  ennui,  not  licaring  in  some   time   from   the 


THE    INDIAN    BOX-AND-BASKET    TRICK.  445 

*  b'y   at   home '    to   whom    she  was    engaged   to     be 

*  marrid,'  Avas  advised  by  the  '  gerrl  next  doore  ' 
to  consult  the  spirits.  Miss  Murphy  objected  at  first 
on  the  o;round  that  she  had  taken  her  '  Father 
Matchew  seventeen  year  afore  in  her  parish  cliurch 
at  home  an'  niver  drunli  sperrits,'  but  finally  con- 
cluded to  follow  the  advice.  The  result  I  shall  give 
you  as  detailed  by  her  to  her  friend :"  — 

"  How  kem  I  by  the  black  eye?  Well,  dear,  I'll 
tell  yer.  Afther  what  yer  wur  tellin'  me,  I  niver 
closed  me  eyes.  The  nixt  maruin'  I  ast  Maggie  Harna- 
han,  the  up-stairs  gerrl,  where  was  herself.  *  In  her 
boodoore,'  sez  Maggie,  an'  up  I  goes  to  her. 

"  '  What's  wantin',  'Nora?  '  sez  she. 

"  '  I've  jist  heerd  as  how  me  cousin's  very  sick,' 
sez  I,  «  an'  I'm  that  frettin',  I  mus'  go  an'  see  her.' 

"Fitter  fur  yer  ter  go  ter  yer  wurruk,'  sez  she, 
lookiu'  mighty  crass,  an'  she  the  lazy  hulks  as  niver 
does  a  turn  from  mornin'  till  night. 

*'  '  Well,  dear,  I  niver  takes  sass  from  anny  av  'em, 
so  I  ups  an'  tould  her,  '  Sorra  taste  av  wurk  I'll  do 
the  day,  an'  av  yer  dou't  like  it,  yer  can  fin'  some  wan 
else,'  an'  I  flounced  mesel'  out  av  the  boodoore." 

"  Well,  I  wintto  me  room  ter  dress  mesel,'  an'  whin 
I  got  on  me  sale-shkin  sack,  I  thought  av  me  poor 
ould  mother — may  the  hivins  be  her  bed!  —  could 
only  see  me,  how  kilt  she'd  be  intoirely.  Whin  I  was 
dressed  I  wint  down-stairs,  an'  out  the  front  doore, 
an'  I  tell  yer  I  slammed  it  well  after  me. 

"  Well,  me  dear,  whin  I  got  ter  the  majum's,  a  big 
chap  wid  long  hair  and  a  baird  like  a  billy-goat  kem 
inter  the  room.     Sez  he  :  — 

"  '  Do  yer  want  to  see  the  majum?  ' 

"  '  I  do,'  sez  I. 

*' '  Two  dollars,'  sez  he. 


446  THK    INDIAN    150X-AND-BASKET    TRICK. 

"  '  For  what?  '  says  I. 

*'  '  For  the  sajants,'  sez  he. 

"  '  Faix,  it's  no  aunts  1  want  to  see,'  soz  I,  '  but 
Luke  Corrigan's  own  self.'  Well,  mo  dear,  Avid  that 
he  gev  a  lauirh  ye'd  thluk  'd  riz  the  roof. 

"  'Is  he  yer  husban'  ?  '  sez  he. 

"  'It's  mighty  'quisitive  ye  nrc,'  sez  1,  'but  he's 
not  inc  husban',  av  3'er  want  ter  know,  l)ut  I  Avant  ter 
larn  av  it's  alive  or  dead  he  is,  which  tiie  Lord  forbid  !' 

"  '  Yer  jist  in  the  nick  er  time,'  sez  he. 

"  '  Faix,  Ould  Nick's  here  all  the  time,  I'm  thiukin', 
from  what  I  hear,'  sez  I. 

"  Well,  ter  make  a  long  story  short,  I  ped  me  two 
dollars,  an'  wint  into  another  rooui,  an'  if  ye'd  guess 
froni  now  till  Aisther,  ye'd  never  thiuk  what  the 
majum  was.  As  I'm  standin'  here,  'twas  notJiiii'  hut 
a  luoman!     I  was  that  bet,  I  was  a'niost  spacheless. 

"  '  Be  sated,  madam,'  sez  she,  p'ntin'^  to  a  chair, 
an'  I  seed  at  wanst  that  she  was  a  very  shu[)erior  sort 
o'  person.  'Be  sated,'  sez  she.  'Yer  inus'  jiiie  the 
circle.' 

"  '  Faix,  I'll  ate  a  thriaugle,  av  yer  wish,'  sez  I. 

"  'Yer  mus'  be  very  quite,'  sez  she.  An'  so  I  sot 
down  along  a  lot  av  other  folks  at  a  table, 

"  'First,  I'll  slug  a  him,'  sez  the  majum,  'an'  thin 
do  all  yces  jiue  in  the  chorus.' 

"  'Yer  mus'  axcusc  me,  ma'am.'  sez  I.  '  I  niver 
could  sing,  but  rather  than  spile  the  divarshuu  o'  the 
company,  av  any  wan' 11  whistle,  I'll  danco  as  purty  a 
jig  as  ye'll  see  from  here  to  Bal'nasloe,  though  it's 
mescl'  as  sez  it.' 

"  Two  young  wliii)per-snappcrs  begin  ter  laugh,  but 
the  Ink  I  gev'em  soon  shut  'em  up 

"Jist  then,  the  big  chap  as  had  me  two  dollars  kem 


THE    INDIAN   BOX-AND-BASKET    TKICK.  447 

into  the  room  iin'  turned  down  the  lights  ;  in  a  minit 
majum,  shtickin'  her  face  dose  to  me  own,  whispers: 

"  '  The  sperrits  is  about —  I  kin  feel  'em  !  ' 

"  '  Thruc  for  you,  ma'am,'  sez  I,  '  fur  I  kin  smell 
'em  !  ' 

"'Hush,  the  inj^tience  is  an  me,'  sez  the  majum. 
'  I  kin  see  the  lion  an'  the  lamb  lying  down  together.' 

"  '  Begorra  !     It's  like  a  wild  beastess  show,'  sez  I. 

"'Will  yer  be  quite?'  sez  an  ould  chap  nex'   ter 
me.     '  I  hev  a  question  to  ax. 

"  'Ax  yer  question,'   say  I,  '  an'  I'll  ax  mine.     I 
ped  me  two  dollars,  an'  I'll  not  be  put  down.' 

"  '  Plaze  be  quite,'  sez  the  majum,  '  or  the  sperrits 
'11  lave.' 

"  Jist  then  kem  a  raj)  on  the  table. 

"  '  Is  that  the  sperrit  of  Luke  Corrigan?  '   sez  the 
majum. 

"  '  It  is  not,'  sez  I,-  '  for  he  could  bate  any  boy  in 
Kilballyowen,    an'  if  his  fist    hit   that   table    'twould 
knock  it  to  smithereens.' 
•  "  '  Whist?  '  sez  the  majum  ;   'it's  John's  Bunions.' 

"  'Ax  him  'bout  his  progress,'  sez  a  woman  wid  a 
face  like  a  bowl  of  stirabout. 

"'Ah,  bathershiu  !  '    sez  I.     'Let   John's  bunions 
alone  and  brino;  Luke  Corrioran  to  the  fore.' 

"  '  Hisli !  '  whispers   the  majum  ;   '  I  feel   a  sperrit 
uare  me.' 

"  '  Feel  av  it  has  a  wart  on  its  nose,'  sez  I,  '  for  be 
that  token  ye'll  know  it's  Luke.' 

"  '  The  moment  is  suspicious,'  says  the  majum. 

"  '  I  hope  yer  don't  want  to  asperge  me  character,' 
sez  I. 

"  '  Whist ! '  sez  she  ;  '  the  sperrits  is  droopin.' 

"'It's   droppin'   yer    mane,'    sez    I,   pickin'   up    a- 
small  bottle  she  let  fall  from  her  pocket. 


448  THE    INDIAN    IJOX-AND-BASKKT    TKICK. 

"  '  Put  that  woman  out,'  scz  an  ould  chap. 

"  '  Who  do  yc  call  a  woman?  '  soz  1.  '  Lav  a  tinker 
on  mc,  an'  I'll  scratch  a  map  of  the  (\)nnty  Clare  on 
yor  ugly  i)hiz.' 

"  '  Put  her  out  I  '  '  Put  her  out !  '  sez  two  or  three 
others,  an'  they  med  a  lep  for  me.  But,  holy  rocket ! 
I  was  up  in  a  minute. 

"  '  Bring  an  yer  fightin'  sjjerrits,'  I  cried,  "  from 
Julus  Sazar  to  Tim  ]Maconle,  an'  I'll  bate  'em  all  fur  the 
gloiy  av  ould  Ireland  !  ' 

"  The  big  chap  as  had  me  money  kem  bchin'  me,  an' 
put  his  elbow  in  me  eye  ;  1)ut  me  jewel,  I  tassed  him 
over  as  if  he  bin  a  feather,  an'  the  money  rowled  out 
his  pocket.  AA'id  a  crv  av  '  Fau<rh-a-l)allah  !  '  I  crab- 
bed  six  dollars,  runned  out  av  the  doore,  an'  Til  never 
put  fut  in  the  house  ag'in.  An'  that's  how  I  kem  be 
the  eye." 

A  story  like  this  gives  the  magician's  assistant  plenty 
of  time  to  woi'lc  the  trick.  Sometimes  a  mauficiaii 
whoso  conHdencc  in  his  assistant  is  not  strong,  or 
whose  i)ara[)hernalia  is  limited,  will  have  only  the  box, 
and  will  satisfy  himself  with  merely  "  tying"  his  as- 
sistant in  a  sack  on  top  of  the  box.  This  way  the 
trick  is  surer  and  a  great  deal  easier  than  when  the 
basket  is  used. 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 


VENTKILOQUISM. 


All  Avho  have  heard  Prof.  Kennedy  or  Val  Vose 
with  their  funny  little  figures  have  wondered  how  they 
managed  to  produce  such  an  effect  upon  their  au- 
dience —  to  completely  delude  them  into  the  belief 
that  the  speech  came  from  the  moving  lips  of  the  lit- 
tle wooden  heads  and  not  from  the  closed  and  motion- 
less labials  of  the  ventriloquists.  Both  gentlemen  are 
thoroughly  familiar  with  their  art,  and  the  entertain- 
ment they  give  may  be  taken  as  a  sample  of  the  pos- 
sibilities of  ventriloquism.  The  history  of  the  art  goes 
back  to  Biblical  times,  but  not  until  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury have  we  anecdotes  of  the  remarkable  performances 
of  men  endowed  with  the  gift.  The  earliest  notice  of 
the  illusion,  as  carried  out  in  modern  times,  has  refer- 
ence to  Louis  Brabant  valet  de  cliambre  to  Francis  I. 
Having  been  rejected  by  the  parents  of  a  rich  heiress 
he  wished  to  wed,  he  waited  until  the  father  was  dead  ; 
then  he  visited  the  widow,  whom  he  caused  to  hear 
the  voice  of  her  husband  coming  from  above  com- 
mandino;  her  to  jjive  their  daugjhter  in  marriasje  to 
Louis,  that  he  (the  ftither)  might  be  relieved  from  pur- 
gatory. The  widow  was  only  too  glad  to  comply. 
Now,  Louis  wanted  a  wedding  portion,  so  he  went  to 
one  Cornu,  a  rich,  miserly,  and  usurious  banker  at 
Lyons,  whom  he  terrified  into  giving  him  ten  thou- 
sand crowns  by  the  old  trick  of  parent  and  purgator^^ 

The  works  of  M.  L'Abbe  La  Chapelle,  issued  1772, 
29"  (449) 


450  vi:NTRiLOQUis:yr. 

contain  dt'sciii)ti()ns  of  the  ventriloquial  achiovcnionts 
of  Baron  Mcngcn  at  Vienna  ;  and  those  of  M.  St.  Gillc, 
near  Paris,  are  equally  interesting  and  astonishing. 
The  former  in<xeniousl  v  constructed  a  doll  with  moveable 
lips,  which  he  could  readily  control  l)y  a  movement  of 
the  finijcrs  under  the  dress  ;  and  with  this  automaton 
he  was  accustomed  to  hold  humorous  and  satirical  dia- 
logues, lie  ascribed  proficiency  in  his  art  to  the  fre- 
(^uent  gratification  of  a  propensity  for  counterfeiting 
the  cries  of  the  lower  animals,  and  the  voices  of  })er- 
sons  with  whom  he  Avas  in  contact. 

La  Chapelle,  having  heard  many  surprising  circum- 
stances related  concerning  one  M.  St.  Gille,  a  grocer 
at  St.  Germaincn-Laye,  near  Paris,  whose  powers  as  a 
ventriloquist  had  given  occasion  to  many  singular  and 
diverting  scenes,  formed  the  resolution  of  seeing  him. 
Being  seated  with  him  on  the  op[)osite  side  of  a  fire,  in  a 
parlor  on  the  ground  iloor,  and  very  attentively  observ- 
ing him,  the  Abbe,  after  half  an  hour's  conversation 
with  M.  St.  Gillc,  heard  himself  called,  on  a  sudden, 
by  his  name  and  title,  in  a  voice  that  seemed  to  come 
from  the  roof  of  a  house  at  a  distance  ;  and  whilst  he 
was  pointing  to  the  house  from  which  the  voice  had 
appeared  to  him  to  proceed,  he  was  yet  more  surprised 
at  hearing  the  words,  "  it  was  not  from  that  quarter," 
apparently  in  the  same  kind  of  voice  as  before,  but 
which  now  seemed  to  issue  from  under  the  earth  at 
one  of  the  corners  of  the  room.  In  short,  this  fic- 
titious voice  ])layed,  as  it  were,  everywhere  about  him, 
and  seemed  to  proceed  from  any  quarter  or  distance 
from  which  the  o[)erator  chose  to  transmit  it  to  liim. 
To  th<^  Abbe,  t  hough  conscious  that  the  voice  proceeded 
from  the  mouth  of  M.  St.  (iille,  Ik;  appeariui  abso- 
lutely mute  while  he  was  exercising  his  talent ;  nor 
could    an}'  change  in  his  countenance  be  discovered. 


VENTRILOQUISM.  451 

But  ho  observed  that  M.  St.  Gille  presented  only  the 
profile  of  his  face  to  him  while  he  was  speaking  as  a 
ventriU)quist. 

On  another  occasion,  M.  St.  Gille  sought  for  shelter 
from  a  storm  in  a  neiohboring  convent ;  and  finding 
the  community  in  mourning,  and  inquiring  the  cause, 
he  Avas  told  that  one  of  their  body,  much  esteemed  bv 
them,  had  lately  died.  Some  of  their  religious  brethren 
attended  him  to  the  church,  and  showing  him  the  tomb 
of  their  deceased  brother,  spoke  very  feelingly  of  the 
scanty  honors  that  had  been  bestowed  on  his  memory, 
when  suddenly  a  voice  was  heard,  apparently  proceed- 
ing from  the  roof  of  the  choir,  lamenting  the  situa- 
tion  of  the  defunct  in  purgatory,  and  reproaching  the 
brotherhood  with  their  want  of  zeal  on  his  account. 
The  whole  community  being  afterwards  convened  in 
the  church,  the  voice  from  the  roof  renewed  its  la- 
mentations and  reproaches,  and  the  whole  convent  fell 
on  their  faces,  and  vowed  a  solemn  reparation.  Ac- 
cordingly, they  first  chanted  a  De  profundis  in  full 
choir ;  during  the  intervals  of  which  the  ghost  occa- 
sionally expressed  the  comfort  he  received  from  their 
pious  exercises  and  ejaculations  in  his  behalf.  The 
prior,  when  this  religious  service  was  concluded,  en- 
tered into  a  serious  conversation  with  M.  St.  Gille, 
and  inveighed  against  the  incredulity  of  our  modern 
sceptics  and  pretended  phih^sophers  on  the  article  of 
ghosts  and  apparitions  ;  and  St.  Gille.  found  it  difficult 
to  convince  the  fathers  that  the  whole  was  a  deception. 

M.  Alexandre,  the  noted  ventriloquist,  had  an  extra- 
ordinary facility  in  counterfeiting  the  faces  of  other 
people.  At  Abbotsford,  during  a  visit  there,  he  actu- 
ally sat  to  a  sculptor  five  times  in  the  character  of  a 
noted  clergyman,  with  whose  real  features  the  sculp- 
tor was    well    acquainted.     When    the    sittings    were 


452  VKNTUILOQUISM. 

closed  aiul  the  l)iist  modelled,  the  mimic  cast  off  his 
wig  and  assumed  dress,  and  appeared  with  his  own 
natural  countenance,  to  the  terror  almost  of  the  sculp- 
tor, and  to  the  great  amusement  of  Sir  AValter  Scott 
and  others  who  had  been  in  the  secret. 

Of  this  most  celebrated  ventriloquist  it  is  related 
that  on  one  occasion  he  was  passing  ah)ng  the  Strand, 
when  a  friend  desired  a  specimen  of  his  abilities.  At 
this  instant  a  load  of  hay  was  i)assing  along  near  Tem- 
ple Bar,  when  Alexandre  called  attention  to  the  suflb- 
cating  cries  of  a  man  in  the  centre  of  the  hay.  A 
crowd  gathered  round  and  stopped  the  astonished 
carter,  and  demanded  why  he  was  carrying  a  fellow- 
creature  in  his  hay.  The  complaints  and  cries  of  the 
smothered  man  now  became  painful,  and  there  was 
every  reason  to  believe  that  he  was  dying.  The 
crowd,  regardless  of  the  stoppage  to  the  traffic,  in- 
stantly proceeded  to  unhxid  the  hay  into  the  street. 
The  smothered  voice  ur2:ed  them  to  make  liaste  ;  but 
the  feelings  of  the  people  may  be  imagined  when  the 
cart  was  empty  and  nol)ody  was  found,  while  Alexan- 
dre and  his  friend  walked  off  laughing  at  the  unex- 
pected results  of  their  trick. 

The  individual  who  wishes  to  know  anything  tkbout 
this  wonderful  art  must  learn  to  distinguish  distances, 
and  be  able,  by  giving  the  proper  pitch  to  the  voice,  to 
make  it  reach  exactly  to  the  })oint  indicated.  He 
must  also  know  that  the  attention  of  the  audience 
should  be  directed  either  by  the  eyes  or  a  gesture  of  the 
hand  to  the  sjjot  whence  the  voice  is  supposed  to  issue. 
In  order  to  cover  the  features  of  any  nuxh-rn  ventrilo- 
(piial  entertainment,  I  will  here  give  the  rules  for  the 
two  voices  required,  with  an  example  of  tiie  dialogue 
in  each  case. 


VENTRILOQUISM.  453 

VOICE    I. 

The  first  is  tlie  voice  in  whicli  Frederic  Maccabe 
excelled.  To  acquire  tliis  voice,  speal?:  one  word  or 
sentence  in  your  own  natural  tones  ;  tlien  open  tlie 
mouth  and  fix  the  jaws  fast,  as  thougli  you  were  trying 
to  hinder  anyone  from  opening  them  farther,  or  shut- 
ting them  ;  draw  the  tongue  bade  in  a  ball ;  speak  the 
same  words,  and  the  sound,  instead  of  being  formed  in 
the  mouth  will  be  formed  in  the  pharynx.  Great  at- 
tention must  be  paid  to-  holding  the  jaws  rigid.  The 
sound  will  then  be  found  to  imitate  a  voice  heard  from 
the  other  side  of  a  door  when  it  is  closed,  or  under  a 
floor,  or  through  a  wall.  To  ventriloquize  with  this 
voice,  let  the  operator  stand  with  his  back  to  the  audi- 
ence against  a  door.  Give  a  gentle  tap  at  the  door, 
and  call  aloud  in  a  natural  voice,  inquiring,  "  Who  is 
there?"  This  will  have  the  effect  of  drawing  the  at- 
tention  of  the  audience  to  the  person  supposed  to  be 
outside.  Then  fix  the  jaw  as  described,  and  utter  in 
voice  No.  1  (explained  above)  any  words  you  please, 
such  as,  *'  I  want  to  come  in."  Ask  questions  in  the 
natural  voice  and  answer  in  the  other.  When  you 
have  done  this,  open  the  door  a  little,  and  hold  a  con- 
versation with  the  imaginary  person.  As  the  door  is 
now  open,  it  is  obvious  that  the  voice  must  be  altered, 
for  a  voice  will  not  sound  to  the  ear  Avhen  a  door  is 
open  the  same  as  when  closed.  Therefore,  the  voice 
must  be  made  to  appear  face  to  face,  or  close  to  the 
ventriloquist.  To  do  this  the  voice  must  be  altered 
from  the  original  note  or  pitch,  but  be  made  in  an- 
other part  of  the  mouth.  This  is  done  by  closing  the 
lips  tight  and  drawing  one  corner  of  the  mouth  down- 
wards, ar  towards  the  ear.  Then  let  the  lips  open  at 
that  corner  only,   the    other  part  to    remain    closed. 


451  VE^•TKILOQL•lSM. 

Next  bi-eatlio,  as  it  were,  the  words  out  of  tlu;  orifice 
foniu'd.  Do  not  speak  distinctly,  but  exi^'I  llu" 
])reatli  in  short  puff's  at  each  word,  and  as  h)ud  as  i)os- 
sihle.  Bv  so  doing  you  will  cause  the  illusion  in  the 
mind  oi"  the  listeners,  that  they  hear  the  same  voice 
which  they  heard  when  the  door  was  closed,  hut  which 
is  now  heard  more  distinctly  and  nearer,  on  account  of 
the  door  being  open.  This  voice  must  always  be  used 
when  the  ventrilo(iuist  wishes  it  to  a[)i)ear  that  the 
sound  comes  from  some  one  close  at  hand,  but  through 
an  obstacle.  The  description  of  voice  and  dialogue 
mav  be  varied,  as  in  the  following  example  :  — 

THE    SUFFOCATED    VICTIM. 

A  lar<''o  i)()X  or  close  cuijboard  is  used  indiscrimi- 
nately,  as  it  may  be  handy.  The  student  will  rap  or 
kick  the  box  ai)parently  by  accident.  The  voice  will 
then  utter  a  hoarse  and  subdued  groan,  apparently 
from  the  box  or  closet. 

Student  ([)ointiiig  to  the  box  with  an  air  of  astonish- 
ment) :   What  is  that? 

Voice  :   I  won't  do  so  any  more.      I  am  nearly  dead. 

Student  :   Who  are  you?      How  caftie  you  there? 

Voice:  I  only  wanted  to  see  what  was  going  on. 
Let  me  out,  do. 

Student:   But  I  don't  know  who  you  are. 

Voice  :  Oh  yes,  you  do. 

Stmlciit  :   Wlio  arc  yoii? 

\'oirr  :     VoUl'    ohi    scliooircjiow,    'I'oUl    .        ">  oU 

know  inc. 

SludiMit  :    \\'hy,  hr"s  in  Canada. 

Voice  (shari)ly)  :  No  Ik;  ain'l,ln''s  lien-;  but  be 
<jui<k. 


VENTRILOQUISM.  455 

Student  (opening  the  lid)  :  Perhaps  he's  come  by 
the  underground  railroad  ?     Hallo  ! 

Voice  (not  so  muffled,  as  described  in  directions: 
Now  then,  give  us  a  hand. 

Student  (closing  the  lid  or  door  sharply)  :  No,  I 
won't. 

Voice  (as  before):  Have  pity  (Tom,  or  Jack,  or 
Mr.  ,  as  the  case  may  be),  or  I  shall  be  choked. 

Student :  I  don't  believe  you  are  what  you  say. 

Voice :  Why  don't  you  let  me  out  and  see  before  I 
am  dead  ? 

Student  (opening  and  shutting  the  lid  and  varying 
the  voice  accordingly)  :  Dead  !  not  you.  "When  did 
you  leave  Canada  ? 

Voice  :  Last  week.     Oh  !  I  am  chokins:. 

Student:  Shall  I  let  him  out?  (opening  the  door.) 
There's  no  one  here. 

VOICE    II. 

The  second  voice  is  the  more  easy  to  be  acquired. 
It  is  the  voice  by  which  all  ventriloquists  make  a  sup- 
posed person  speak  from  a  long  distance,  or  from,  or 
through  the  ceiling.  In  the  first  place,  with  your  back 
to  the  audience,  direct  their  attention  to  the  ceiling  by 
jjointing  to  it  or  by  looking  intently  at  it.  Call  loudly, 
and  ask  some  question,  as  though  you  believed  some 
person  to  be  concealed  there.  Make  your  own  voice 
very  distinct,  and  as  near  the  lips  as  possible,  inas- 
much as  that  will  help  the  illusion.  Then  in  exactly 
the  same  tone  and  jDitch  answer  ;  but,  in  orderthat  the 
same  voice  may  seem  to  proceed  from  the  point  indi- 
cated, the  words  must  be  formed  at  the  back  part  of 
the  roof  of  the  mouth.  To  do  this  the  lower  jaw 
must  be  drawn  back  and  held  there,  the  mouth  open, 
which  will  cause  the  palate  to  be  elevated  and   drawn 


45G  VENTKILOQUISM. 

nearer  to  tlie  pharynx,  and  tlic  sound  will  l)e  reflected 
in  that  cavity,  and  appear  to  come  from  the  roof.  Too 
much  attention  cannot  be  paid  to  the  manner  in  whicli 
the  breath  is  used  in  this  voice.  When  speaking  to 
the  supposed  person,  expel  the  words  with  a  deej), 
(juick  breath. 

^Vhen  answering  in  the  imitative  manner,  the  breath 
must  be  held  back  and  cxi)clled  very  slowly,  and  the 
voice  will  come  in  a  subdued  and  muffled  manner,  little 
above  a  whisj)er,  but  so  as  to  be  well  distinguished. 
To  cause  the  supposed  voice  to  come  nearer  by  de- 
grees, call  loudly,  and  say,  "  I  want  you  down  here," 
or  words  to  that  elVect,  At  tlic  same  time  make  a  mo- 
tion downwards  with  your  hand.  Hold  some  conver- 
sation with  the  voice  and  cause  it  to  sav,  '*  I  am 
coming,"  or  "  Here  I  am,"  each  time  indicating  the 
descent  with  the  hand.  AVhen  the  voice  is  supposed 
to  approach  nearer,  the  sound  must  alter,  to  denote 
the  progress  of  the  movement.  Therefore  Idt  the 
voice  at  every  supposed  step,  roll,  as  it  were,  by  de- 
grees, from  the  pharynx  more  into  the  cavity  of  the 
mouth,  and  at  each  supposed  step,  contracting  the 
opening  of  the  mouth,  until  the  lips  are  drawn  u[)  as  if 
you  were  whistling.  By  so  doing  the  cavity  of  the 
mouth  will  be  very  much  enlarged.  This  will  cause 
the  voice  to  be  obscured,  and  so  a[)poar  to  come  nearer 
by  degrees.  At  the  same  time,  care  must  be  taken 
not  to  articulate  the  consonant  sounds  plainly,  as  that 
would  cause  the  disarrangement  of  the  lips  and  cavity 
of  the  mouth  ;  niid  in  all  imitative  voices  the  conso- 
nants must  scarcely  be  articulated  at  all,  especially  if 
the  vcntrilorpiist  faces  the  andionco.  For  example  : 
suppose  the  imitative  voici;  is  made  to  say,  "  Mind 
what  you  are  doing,  you  bad  bo}',"  it  must  l)e  spoken, 
as  if  it  were  written,  *'  'ind  'ot  you're  doing,  you  'ad 


VENTRILOQUISM.  457 

whoy."  This  kind  of  articulution  may  be  practised 
by  forming  tlie  words  in  the  pharynx,  and  then  send- 
ing them  out  of  the  mouth  by  sudden  expulsions  of  the 
breath  clean  from  the  lungs  at  every  word.  This  is 
most  useful  in  ventriloquism,  and  to  illustrate  it  we 
will  take  the  man  on  the  roof  as  an  illustration.  This 
is  an  example  almost  invariably  successful,  and  is  con- 
stantly used  by  skilled  professors  of  the  art.  As  we 
have  before  repeatedly  intimated,  the  eyes  and  atten- 
tion of  the  audience  must  be  directed  to  the  supposed 
spot  from  whence  the  illusive  voice  is  supposed  to  pro- 
ceed :  — 

Student:  Are  you  up  there,  Jem? 

Voice:  Hallo!  who's  that? 

Student :  It's  I !     Are  you  nearly  finished? 

Voice:  Only  three  more  slates  to  put  on,  master. 

Student :  I  want  3'ou  here,  Jem. 

Voice  :  I  am  coming  directly. 

Student :  Which  way,  Jem  ? 

Voice  :  Over  the  roof  and  down  the  trap.  (Voice  is 
supposed  to  be  moving,  as  the  student  turns  and  points 
with  his  finger.) 

Student :  "Which  way  ? 

Voice  (nearer)  :  Through  the  trap  and  down  the 
stairs. 

Student :  How  long  shall  you  be  ? 

Voice  :  Onlv  a  few  minutes.  I  am  comin£i:as  fast  as 
I  can. 

The  voice  now  approaches  the  door,  and  is  taken  up 
by  the  same  tone,  but  produced  as  in  the  first  voice. 

I  have  room  to  add  only  a  few  polyphonic  imita- 
tions. To  imitate  the  tormenting  bee,  the  student 
must  use  considerable  pressure  on  his  chest,  as  if  he 
was  about  to  groan  suddenly,  but  instead  of  which,  the 


458  VENTIIILOQUISM. 

sound  must  be  confined  iind  prolonged  in  the  throat : 
the  greater  the  pressure,  the  higher  will  be  the  faint 
note  jiroduccd,  and  which  Avill  perfectly  resemble  the 
buzzing  of  the  bee  or  wasp.  Now,  to  imitate  the 
buzzing  of  a  blue])ottle  fly,  it  will  be  necessary  for  the 
sound  to  be  made  with  the  lips  instead  of  the  throat; 
this  is  done  l)y  closing  the  lips  very  tight,  except  at 
one  corner,  where  a  small  aperture  is  left ;  fill  that 
cheek  full  of  wind,  l)ut  not  the  other,  then  slowly 
blow  or  force  the  wind  contained  in  the  cheek  out  of 
the  ai)erture  :  if  this  is  done  pro[)erly,  it  will  cause  a 
sound  exactly  like  the  buzzing  of  a  bluebottle  fly. 

The  noise  caused  by  ))laning  and  sawinof  wood  can 
also  be  imitated  without  much  difficulty,  and  it  causes 
a  great  deal  of  amusement.  The  student  must,  how- 
ever, bear  in  mind  that  every  action  must  be  imitated 
as  well  as  the  noise,  for  the  ej'e  assists  to  delude  the 
ear.  We  have  even  seen  ventrilocjui.sts  carry  this  eye 
deception  so  far  as  to  hayo  a  few  shavings  to  scatter 
as  they  proceed,  and  a  piece  of  wood  to  fall  when  the 
sawing  is  ended.  To  imitate  planing,  the  student 
nnist  stand  at  a  table  a  little  distance  from  the  audi- 
ence, and  appear  to  take  hold  of  a  i)lane  and  push  it 
forward  :  the  sound  as  of  a  plane  is  made  as  thouirh 
you  were  dwelling  on  the  last  part  of  the  word  \\\isJl  — 
dwell  U[)on  the  sh  a  little,  as  tsh y  and  then  clip  it  short 
by  causing  the  tongue  to  close  with  the  palate,  then 
over  again.  Letters  will  not  convey  the  })eculiai-  sound 
of  sawiuiT  —  it  must  be  studied  from  nature. 


CHAP  TEE     XXXIII. 


"  ON    THE    ROAD." 


Theatrical  life  is  full  enough  of  business  and  bustle, 
even  when  a  company  is  pla3dug  a  long  engagement  in 
a  large  city  ;  but  when  "  on  the  road,"  travelling  fi'om 
town  to  town  —  playing  here  a  week  and  there  a  week, 
with  one-night  stands  in  the  intervening  "villages," 
actors  and  managers  find  it  no  easy  task  to  retain  their 
health  and  spirits,  and  keep  up  with  their  "  dates  ;  " 
and  with  all  but  a  few  organizations  located  almost 
permanently  in  New  York,  thus  flitting  from  place  to 
place  —  a  round  of  anxiety  and  railroad  experiences 
that  lasts  through  forty  weeks  of  each  year  —  makes 
up  the  easy,  glorious,  and  blissful  existence  that  so 
many  people  outside  of  the  profession  imagine  is  the 
unalloyed  portion  of  those  who  are  in  it. 

As  much  of  the  business  of  a  company's  season  as 
can  be  arranged  in  New  York  during  the  summer,  is 
attended  to  by  the  manager.  He  meets  the  prominent 
theatrical  managers  of  the  country  on  "  The  Square  " 
and  makes  dates  at  their  respective  houses  for  his  at- 
traction. Havino;  located  his  route  as  to  the  large  cities 
he  proceeds  to  fill  in  the  intervals  with  one  or  two- 
night  stands  in  smaller  places,  and  this  being  done  he 
and  his  company  are  ready  to  take  the  road  just  as 
soon  as  the  season  begins.  The  contracts  for  cities 
like  Chicago,  Cincinnati,  Louisville,  New  Orleans,  and 
St.   Louis    are  made  and  signed  in  New  York  during 

(459) 


400  ON  THE   ROAD. 

the  summer  vacation.     The  others  fire  completed  while 
the  company  is  on  the  road. 

Ahead  of  every  attraction  is  a  press  agent,  herald, 
avant-courier,  or,  as  he  hegan  to  call  himsolC  two 
years  ago,  a  business  manager.  When  he  invades  a 
town  the  first  place  he  makes  a  rusii  for  is  the  most 
availal)le  opeia  house  or  hall,  with  the  proprietor  of 
which  he  makes  a  contract  like  the  followinir:  — 

Belleville,  Ili 1882. 

Thrs  is  to  certify  that  I   have  rented  the  hall  (room 

or  theatre)  known  as to  the  jSIadison 

Square    Theatre    Company    for night.  . .  . , 

viz for  the  sum  of 

dollars  per  night,  which  includes  license,  stage  hands, 
ushers,  ticket-seller,  etc.  Said  hall,  passage-way,  and 
stage  to  be  well  lighted,  and  also  to  be  kept  clean  and 
well  warmed,  with  services  of  janitor  and  privilege  of 
matinee  included. 
Signed: 

Lessee. 

WitULSH  : 

IJusincss  ]Mana<;er. 

Numerous  other  contracts  are  made,  —  for  hauling 
baggage,  for  carriag<!S  and  oiuiiibus,  lor  orchestra, 
etc.  The  hotel  contract,  wiiich  is  as  follows,  is  very 
explicit  :  — 

'*  This  is  to  certify  that  the  laniUord  of 

does  hercbv  a<>;rec    with   the  A;rent  of  the 

Madison  Square  Tiieatre  Company  to  board  and  lodge 

the  said  conq)any,  consisting  of person.^,  more 

or  less,  for days,   more  or  less,  at  the  rate 

of cents    p(!r  day  for  each  person.     Three 

meals  and  one  (night's)   lodging  to  constitute  a  day's 


ON   THE   ROAD.  461 

board,  and  for  anj  time  less  than  one  day  the  charge 
shall  be  at  the  same  rate  per  diem  as  is  above  men- 
tioned.    Fires  to  be  furnished  at cents 

per  each  room.  No  charge  to  be  made  under  the 
above  agreement  providing  the  party  see  fit  to  go  else- 
where.    Agent  to  be  kept  at  same  rates. 

Landlord." 

Having  got  through  with  making  contracts  the  agent 
begins  to  "bill    the    town."     The  amount  of  billing 
that  is    done  depends   largely  upon   the  reputation  of 
the  star  or  attraction,  and  the  manner  in  which  the 
newspapers  have  been  worked.     An  actress  like  Mary 
Anderson  puts  out  but  about  one  hundred  three-sheet 
bills  —  a   three-sheet  bill    being    the  ordinary  poster 
that  is  seen  upon  a  single  bill-board  —  in  any  of  the 
laro-e  cities.     Sarah  Bernhardt  and  Adelina  Patti,  who 
were  kept  before  the  public  by  the   press  for  many 
months  before  they  came  to  this  country,  needed  but 
a  few  three-sheet  bills  and  a  simple  announcement  of 
their   coming    in    the    newspapers.      Mrs.    Langtry, 
Christine  Nilsson,  and  Henry  Irving  will  be  billed  in 
the  same  economical  way  when  they  reach  our  shores. 
Edwin  Booth  and  John  McCuUough,  like  Mary  Ander- 
son, use  only  a  small  quantity  of  three-sheet  bills  for 
advertising  on  the  walls.     These   people  require  few 
lithographs,  and  are  likewise  fortunate  in  not  being  re- 
quired to  buy  large  space  in  the  papers.     Nearly  all 
the  minor  melodramatic  and  comedy  attractions  take 
to  the  circus  style  of  advertising.     Charles  L.  Davis,  of 
"Alvin  Joslyn"  fame,  who  wears  the  largest  diamond 
and  carries  the  finest  watch  in  the  profession,  boasts 
that  he  always  likes  to  bill  against  a  circus.     When  he 
was  in  St.    Louis  during  the  season  of  1881-2,  Mr. 
W.  R.  Cottrell,  the  city  bill-poster,  told  me  that  Davis 


402  ox  Tim  iioAD. 

put  out  :il)out  four  thousand  sheets,  nnd  evcrlastinirly 
spi-inklod  tlic  windows  with  colored  lithographs.  Mr. 
Cottrcll  also  told  mo  that  this  does  not  approach  the 
lavishness  of  circuses  in  decoratini;  the  fences  and 
walls  and  hill-boards  of  cities.  These  latter  usually 
put  out  not  less  than  ten  thousand  sheets,  and  the 
Great  London  Show  a  few  seasons  ago  would  sjjread 
from  eighteen  to  twenty  thousand  sheets  before  the 
eyes  of  a  city  having  a  population  of  four  hundred 
thousand.  The  bill-poster  gets  three  cents  per  sheet  for 
posting,  and  $1  per  hundred  for  distributing  litho- 
graphs, so  that,  as  will  be  understood,  a  circus  or  a 
theatrical  attraction  like  Charles  L.  Davis  is  a  })onanza 
to  the  bill-poster. 

From  the  big  typo  of  the  bill-boards  the  advance 
agent  uaturall}^  turns  his  attention  to  the  smaller,  but 
prol)al)ly  more  etfective,  type  of  the  newspaper.  lie 
rushes  into  the  editorial  rooms  like  a  whirlwind,  if  he 
is  a  cyclonic  aijent,  asks  in  a  voice  of  thunder  for  the 
dramatic  critic,  an<l  when  that  gentleman  is  pointed 
out,  after  depositing  a  gilt-edged  card  and  bestrewing 
the  journalist's  desk  with  a  mass  of  notices  from  the 
Oakland  Bnijlc,  the  Bragtown  l^oomerang ,  ami  forty 
other  equally  important  and  severely  critical  journals, 
proceeds  to  talk  so  loudly  that  he  disturbs  all  the 
writers  in  the  room,  and  has  the  managing  editor  on 
the  point  nineteen  times  out  of  twenty  of  ordering  him 
out  of  the  otTice. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  my  boy,"  he  shouts,  "  w(>  just 
laid  'cm  out  cold  in  J^ilot  Knob  last  night.     Just  got  a 

tele<Tr:ini     from     the     inaiKiLTcr.      See    here:     'House 

c 

jammed  to  the  doors;  jiundreds  turned  away;  great 
enthusiasm  ;  big  sales  to-morrow  night.'  Now  that's  no 
gag,  but  the  dead  srjuai-e,  bang-up  truth,  s'clp  me 
God." 


ON    THE    ROAD.  463 

"  I  see  the  Horse-Tail  Bar  Sentinel  gives  you  folks 
fits,"  the  dramatic  critic  quietly  suggests.  "  It  says 
your  i^lay  is  bad  and  3'our  company  worse  —  how  is 
that?" 

"  Oh  that  fellow  is  a  bloody  duffer,"  the  agent  re- 
plies at  the  top  of  his  voice.  "  Tell  you  the  truth,  we 
had  a  little  trouble  with  him  about  comps.  He  wanted 
a  bushel  of  'em,  and  because  we  wouldn't  give  'cm  up 
blasted  us.  But  we  did  a  rattling  srood  business  all 
the  same,  and  don't  you  forget  it?  " 

And  in  this  way  the  cyclonic  agent  rattles  along, 
tormenting  everybody  within  hearing  distance  until  he 
gets  ready  to  go  ;  and  when  he  is  gone  there  is  a  sigh 
of  relief  all  around  the  office.  The  manaorins:  editor 
comes  out  and  asks  the  dramatic  critic  :  — 

"  Who  was  that  d— d  fool?  " 

"The  agent  of  the  Doorstep  Comic  Opera  Com- 
pany," the  dramatic  critic  replies. 

"  Well,  the  next  time  he  comes  in  here  just  tell  him 
this  is  not  a  deaf  and  dumb  asvlum.  We  don't  want 
any  serenades  from  side-show  blowers.  Don't  give 
his  d — d  old  company  more  than  two  lines,  and  make 
it  less  than  that  if  you  can." 

Fortunately  for  the  profession  this  style  of  advance 
agent  is  dying  out,  and  men  who  understand  news- 
papers better  are  coming  in.  There  are  many  real 
gentlemen,  clever,  quiet  and  effective,  in  the  business, 
like  Mr.  E.  D.  Price,  formerly  of  the  Detroit  Post 
and  Tribune;  Frank  Farrell,  who  graduated  from  the 
New  Orleans  Times  office,  and  others  who  have  for- 
saken journalism  for  the  equally  arduous,  but  more 
lucrative  positions  that  enterprising  and  long-headed 
theatrical  managers  offer  them. 

The  advance  agent  sees  that  the  hall  or  theatre  is  in 
proper  condition,  looks  after  the  sale  of  reserved  seats, 


464  ON   THE    ROAD. 

distributes  his  "  comps "  as  jiidiciou.^^ly  as  circum- 
stances will  allow,  and  confronts  everywhere  he  o-oes 
the  cunning  and  omnipresent  dead-head  —  that  abomi- 
nation of  the  show  business  who  will  spend  $5  with  an 
agent  to  get  a  free  ticket  from  him,  when  admission 
and  a  reserved  seat  may  be  i)urchased  for  $1.  If  the 
dead-head  fails  to  circumvent  the  agent  he  (piictly 
awaits  the  coming  of  the  company,  when  he  lies  in  am- 
bush for  the  manager,  of  whom  he  demands  a  pass  or 
his  life.  In  fact,  the  manager  often  has  to  undo  a 
great  deal  that  his  agent  has  done  in  a  town,  and  to  do 
over  again  much  that  the  avant-courior  had  seemin«Wv 

1  .  O   J 

done  m  a  satisfactory  manner.  The  company,  too, 
frequently  iind  the  way  not  so  smooth  or  pleasant  as 
the  agent  has  represented  it  to  Itc  :  the  hall  or  theatre 
in  which  the  performance  is  to  be  given  is  often  a 
dingy,  dismal  place  that  is  not  only  without  conven- 
iences of  any  kind,  but  what  is  worse,  may  not  be 
proof  against  anything  like  demonstrative  weather; 
the  hotel  fare  is  bad,  and  the  accommodations  no  bet- 
ter ;  the  mayor,  the  town  council,  and  sometimes  the 
prominent  citizens,  must  have  free  passes  ;  the  local 
papers  want  hatfuls  of  complimentary  tickets,  and 
with  a  house  half  filled  with  dead-heads  and  one-third 
of  the  benches  empty,  they  nmst,  in  the  face  of  most 
discouraging  circumstances,  appear  as  entertainers  or 
meet  with  the  severest  denunciations  of  the  pigmy 
press  and  the  most  galling  criticism  from  the  ungrate- 
ful army  of  dead-heads. 

Now  and  then  an  actor  or  an  actress  contracts  a  cold 
during  a  barn-storming  tour,  and  the  nomadic  life  not 
being  calculated  to  aid  the  healing  power  of  medicines, 
the  seeds  of  death  arc  sown,  and  soon  the  played-out 
l)layer  sinks  from  sight,  and  without  causinff  a  siuirle 
ripple  upon  the  surface  of  the  great  sea  of  life,  goes 


ON   THE   ROAD. 


465 


down  to  the  grave.     The  agent  and  the  manager,  too, 
share  this  danger,  and  altogether  the  life  of  profes- 


< 
o 

a 

W 

H 

o 


sional  people  when  "  on  the  road  "  is  not  so  bright  or 
joyful  as  to  cause  any  one  acquainted  with  their  trials 

and  troubles  to  envy  them  their  lot. 

so 


C  II  A  r  T  K  K     XXXIV. 


THE    GRr:EN-EYED    AND    OTHER    MONSTERS. 

To  the  outside  Avorlcl  the  player's  life  seems  always 
bright  —  a  rose-carpeted  path  with  sunshine  forever 
strayiiiij  about  the  feet  and  l)rcath  of  the  sweetest 
gardens  always  in  their  atnios[)herc.  To  the  i)hiyers 
themselves,  notwithstanding  the  hard  work,  it  has  the 
same  beauty  and  fascinations  that  other  professions 
have  for  those  wlio  have  entered  them.  Lotta  receiv- 
ing the  wild  i)laudits  of  her  newsboy  admirers  —  for 
all  over  the  country  the  street  Aral)s  express  their 
wiHinij:ness  to  "  do  ennvthin'  in  de  worhl  fnr  Lottie  " — 
accepting  the  baskets  of  llowers  tiiey  send  her  with  the 
pennies  they  have  pooled,  and  doing  her  utmost  to  i-e- 
spond  to  a  score  of  encores  in  response  to  their  appeals 
is  as  charming  a  little  picture  of  i)erfect  hajjpiness  and 
contentment  as  we  could  find  anywhere.  Judic,  the 
great  opera  l)oufFe  singer,  peddling  cherries,  at  the 
great  charity  fair  in  Paris,  from  two  i)anniers  borne  by 
a  iaekass,  crvinir,  "  \^\\V  mv  cherries,  monsieur.  I 
don't  sell  them  dear.  Five  francs,  the  little  basket," 
is  a  noble  example  of  the  geneVosity  that  tlistinguishes 
the  profession  of  which  she  is  a  mcnd)er.  A  poi)ular 
American  actress  selling  photogra[)hs  for  a  little  crip- 
ple she  met  in  the  street,  and  who  had  been  rei)nired 
at  several,  is  another  example  of  the  leaning  towards 
charity  and  the  kind-heartedness  of  a  class  of  people 
against  whom  many  bigots  raise  their  hands  and  to 
whom   thry  tnrn   their   backs,  sa3Mng,  as  the  Kev.  Mr. 

(4G6) 


THE    GREEN-EYED   AND    OTHER   MONSTERS.  407 

Sabini  said,  that  ho  didn't  want  to  have  anything  to  do 
with  actors.  The  reader  has  probably  heard  the  story, 
but  I  will  repeat  it  here  :  George  Holhmd,  the  actor,  died 
in  his  eightieth  year,  on  December  20,  1870.  He  was  a 
player  of  exceeding  merit  in  his  day,  and  his  demise 
was  widely  and  deeply  regretted.  Friends  gathered 
around  his  casket  in  the  awful  moment  when  they  were 
to  part  with  him  forever.  The  rites  of  the  church  were 
wanted  for  him,  of  course,  and  an  actor  friend  went  to 
Rev.  Salniii  and  asked  him  to  officiate.  He  declined, 
saying:  "  I  want  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  an  actor. 
There  is  a  little  place  around  the  corner  were  they  do 
these  things."  And  sure  enough  there  was,  and  the 
actors  took  their  dead  friend  into  "  the  little  place 
around  the  corner,"  and  Dr.  Houghton  said  the  last 
prayer  over  the  dead  player.  That  "  j)lace  "  is  now 
known  among  actors  and  by  the  public  too  as  "  the 
little  church  around  the  corner."  It  is  the  Church  of 
the  Transfiguration,  and  is  on  Twenty-ninth  Street 
near  Madison  Avenue. 

It  is  only  occasionally  that  scandal  is  given  by  the 
theatrical  profession,  but  these  few  and  far-between 
occasions  are  sufficient  to  keep  alive  the  bad  opinion 
that  certain  people  have  of  actors  and  actresses.  It 
is  true  the  class  is  weak  at  many  points,  as  are  other 
classes,  but  as  I  have  urged  before,  they  maintain 
a  higher  standard  of  morality  and  adorn  their  circle 
better  than  any  other  people  whose  paths  are  strewn  as 
plentifully  with  temptations.  At  the  beginning  of  the 
eighteenth  century  the  stage  was  in  very  bad  condi- 
tion because  society  was  in  a  worse  condition,  and  if 
there  is  frailty  in  the  ranks  of  actresses  of  to-day,  and 
weaknesses  among  actors,  it  is  because  their  sur- 
roundings compel  them  to  be  what  they  are,  and  even 
under   this    compulsion    they    can  hold    their    heado 


4G8  THE    OREEN-EYED    AXD    OTHER    MONSTERS. 


as  high  as  their  neighbors  and  h)()k  (hem  in  the 
face  without  feeling  that  they  arc  an}'  worse  than  the 
rest  of  the  workl,  even  if  they  are  so  bad.  It  is  my 
pur[)ose  to  say  something  about  the  dark  side  of  the- 
atrical life  that  tlie  reader  may  see  just  what  there  is 
ill  Ihe  talk  indulged  by  the  scandal-mongers  of  the 
anti-theatrical  class,  and  that  it  may  be  known  that 
their  indiscretions  and  their  sins  are  no  more  heinous 
than  the  sins  and  transgressions  of  other  people,  and 
that  in  very  few  instances  are  they  the  outcome  of  the 
actor  or  actress's  professional  surrouudings. 

The  estranu^ement  of  Edwin  Booth  and  his  wife  or 
the  divorce  of  Edwin  Fori'est  from  his  wife  did  not 
cause  the  world  to  think  any  the  less  of  these  gentle- 
men as  actors,  and  the  events  did  not  bring  any  op- 
probrium upon  the  iirofession.  Sarah  Bernhardt's 
open  avowal  that  her  children  were  fatherless  and  they 
were  only  "accidents"  was  a  frank  confession  of  an 
early  indiscretion  that  almost  everyljody  was  read}'  to 
forgive.  She  was  not  received  by  society  in  this  coun- 
try, but  society  knelt  before  her  at  the  shrine  of 
Thespis,  as  they  did  at  the  feet  of  Mme.  Patti,  who 
Haunted  Nicolini  in  the  face  of  the  ])nblic,  as  the  suc- 
cessor of  the  Marquis  de  Caux  in  all  the  lights  of  a 
husband  although  there  never  had  l)een  any  marriage 
ceremony  to  make  the  tenor  the  legal  companion  o( 
the  beautil'ul  diva.  For  the  sake  of  their  art  the  sins 
of  these  two  gifted  women  were  partially  forgotten, 
and  while  society  could  not  o})en  its  doors  to  Mdlle. 
Bernhardt  or  Mine.  Patti,  it  went  readily  1o  the  o[)en 
doors  through  which  the  presence  of  the  actress  and  of 
the  sonijstress  was  to  be  reached. 

A  New  York  correspondent  says:  "Having  men- 
tioned two  French  actresses,  let  mo  drop  into  the  true 
story  of  Bernhardt  and  Coloinbicr's  quarrel,  and  the 


THK    GREEN-EYED   AND    OTHER   MONSTERS.         4G9 

book  about  America  which  has  been  put  forth  in  Colom- 
bier's  name.  When  Bernhardt  came  over  here,  she 
was  accompanied  by  Jelian  Soudan,  a  Parisian  Avriter. 
He  was  very  small,  closely  buttoned  up  to  the  neck, 
very  bushy  haired,  and  very  much  like  a  particularly 
mild  and  girlish  divinity  student.  For  all  that,  he  was 
the  accredited  temporary  lover  of  Bernhardt.  His 
other  errand  was  to  write  an  account  of  her  tour,  to 
be  published  as  from  her  own  pen.  While  in  this  city 
he  was  an  object  of  considerable  ridicule,  and  his  name 
was  maltreated  from  Jehan  Soudan  into  Sudden 
Johnny.  But  Colombier,  the  fair  and  fat  actress  of 
Bernhardt' s  company,  did  not  regard  him  as  comic. 
Quite  on  the  contrary,  she  fell  in  love  with  him,  and 
he  fell  in  love  with  her.  However,  this  new  reciproc- 
ity of  hearts  was  kept  hidden  until  near  the  end  of 
the  Journey.  Then  it  came  out  through  Sudden 
Johnny  carelessly  kissing  Colombier  too  loud  in  a  thin- 
partitioned  dressing-room.  The  smack  was  heard  by 
Bernhardt.  I  don't  ima2;ine  that  she  cared  much  for 
Johnny,  or  would  have  missed  him  from  the  ranks  of 
her  favored  admirers  ;  but  it  made  her  just  as  mad 
as  she  could  be  to  lose  him  to  Colombier.  Now, 
Colombier' s  beauty  was  marred  by  a  deflection  of  her 
nose  to  one  side.  That's  not  much,  for  the  chances 
are  ten  to  one  that  the  sides  of  your  own  face  don't 
exactly  agree.  Try  a  glass  critically,  and  see.  Well, 
when  Colombier  emerged  from  her  room  with  Johnny, 
to  go  on  the  stage,  Sarah  regarded  her  quizzically,  and 
then  said  something  in  French  equivalent  to  :  — 

"  'Ah,  my  dear,  I  fear  you  kiss  too  much  on  one  side 
of  your  mouth.  It  has  really  and  truly  bent  your  nose 
awry.  Do  let  the  other  side  have  some  of  Jehan' s 
attentloUo' 

"No  more  was  said.     But  that  Johnny  and  Colom- 


470         riiK   (Mjr.KN-KVKi)  and  otiiku   MON'STKUS. 

biiT  })l()th'(l  :i  deep  rovengo  is  cvi(lei>t,  for  tlic  l)0()k 
ai)i)e;irs  ill  Paris  with  the  name  of  Coloinbier  instead 
of  Bernhardt  as  anthor,  and  auu)n<x  its  numerous 
ridiculous  lies  al)out  Americans  are  some  spiteful  little 
flings  at  Sarah.      Thus  Sudden  Johnny  gets  even." 

Mine.  Patti,  loo,  had  a  voungnian  with  her —  Michael 
Mortici-,  brothel-  of  the  editor  of  the  Paris  Figaro  — 
who  was  to  write  a  book  for  her,  but  in  St.  Louis  he 
spoke  two  freely  to  a  ncwspajjcr  reporter  about  Mme, 
Patti's  relations  to  Nicolini,  and  Mortier's  life  was  there- 
after made  so  miserable  that  he  was  glad  soon  to  make 
a  bee  line  for  Paris,  where  it  is  to  be  ho[)ed  he  is  at 
present . 

A  London  correspondent  tells  us  how  a  favorite 
actress  of  that  place  faced  three  husbands,  and  as  it  is 
in  order  to  continue  turning  tlie  crank  of  the  scandal 
machine  while  foreign  talent  is  the  material  to  be 
irround,  I  will  give  the  paragraph.  He  says:  "The 
true  glory  of  the  Lyceum  Theatre  is  that  English  Bern- 
hardt, Miss  Elh-n  Terrv.  This  bjue-eyi'd,  bhmde- 
locked,  Saxon  siren  is  not  a  radiant  be;iut\'  as  was  the 
ill-fated  AchdaideNeilson,  but  she  is  something  better  — 
she  is  a  diarnieuse,  as  the  Fi'cnch  call  any  one  pos- 
sessing that  ])eculiar  rciuinine  —  which  she  exercises  so 
powerfuly  —  niagnc^tism.  She  is  the  most  gifted, 
and  withal  the  most  naturallv  graceful,  woman  that  I 
hav(!  ever  seen.  The  little  movements  and  artistic 
attitudes  of  Sarah  BeiMihardt  would  seem  ibrced  and 
artilicial  Ix'side  that  uuboin  charm  an<l  harmonv  of 
gesture,  unstudied  and  perfect  as  the  ripple  of  tall 
grasses  or  th<;  swa\ing  of  the  branches  ot"  a  weeping 
wilh)W  beneath  a  summer  bree/e.  She  is  pure 
womanlv,  everv  inch  of  \\vv.  She  cannot  be  awkward 
even  when  she  tries  ;  and  I  >-aw  her  try  the  other  night 
in  '  The  Belle's  Stratagem;'   but  instead  of  transform- 


THE    GREEN-EYED    AND    OTHER    MONSTERS.  471 

ing  Letitia  Handy  into  a  country  hoyden  in  accordance 
with  the  text,  she  only  succeeded  in  assuming  a  pretty 
espieglerie  that,  had  I  been  Doricourt,  would  have 
driven  nie  to  catch  her  straightway  in  my  arms  and 
kiss  her,  declaring  that  she  was  charming  anyhow.  Off 
the  stage  I  am  told  that  she  is  quite  as  fascinating  as 
when  before  the  foot-lights.  She  has  proved  the  extent 
of  her  power  of  enchantment  by  successfully  winning 
and  wedding  three  husbands,  all  of  whom  are  still 
living,  divorce  and  not  death  having  released  her  from 
two  of  them.  In  fact,  it  is  reported  that  while  walking 
in  the  Grosvenor  Gallery  recently,  with  her  present 
spouse,  Mr.  Kelly,  she  came  face  to  face  with  her  two 
former  husbands,  who  were  promenading  there  to- 
gether, and  that  the  only  embarrassed  personage  of 
the  quartette  was  Mr.  Kelly  ;  and  they  do  say  that  the 
law  will  soon  be  called  into  requisition  to  break  the 
bonds  that  unite  her  to  her  present  spouse,  and  that 
she  will  then  become  the  wife  of  a  prominent  English 
actor.  Truly  this  wonderful  and  interesting  lady 
ought  to  inscribe  on  her  wedding-ring  the  motto  said 
to  have  been  adopted  by  the  old  Countess  of  Desmond 
on  the  occasion  of  her  fourth  marriage  :  — 

If  I  survive 
I'll  have  five. 

Jealousy  is  at  the  bottom  of  nearly  every  scandal 
connected  with  the  stage,  or  with  people  who  have 
been  on  the  stage.  The  story  of  Lizzie  McCall's 
crime  is  a  peculiarly  sad  one.  She  had  been  a  favorite 
burlesque  actress,  and  was  playing  young  heroines  with 
Boucicault  in  1880  when  she  met  and  married  Geors^e 
Barry  Wall,  a  young  man  of  twenty-five  years,  she 
being  twenty-three.  She  promised  him  to  leave  the 
stage  forever,    and  in  order  that  she  might  not    be 


47-2 


THE   GUEEX-EVED   AND   OTHER   MOXSTER.'^. 


placed    ill    the  vray  of   tomptation  Wall  made    his    homo 


1! 


> 


in   New   Utrecht,  Long  Island,  removing   thence  to   New 
I'oiU.      Jealousy    early    made     its    appearance     in    thei;* 


THE   GREEN-E-iED   AND   OTHER   MONSTERS.         473 

home,  and  their  married  life  was  not  happy  or  peaceful. 
The}''  lived  together  for  eighteen  months,  however,  until 
one  fine  morning  after  a  violent  quarrel  she  snatched 
lip  a  pistol  and  shot  her  husband  through  the  throat. 

A  Russian  theatre  not  long  since  was  the  scene  of  a 
real  drama  which  dejserves  a  place  among  the  serious 
accidents  of  the  staofe.  The  two  leading  actresses 
were  Frenchwomen  who  had  come  to  St.  Petersburg 
together  as  friends.  They  had  occupied  the  same 
house,  and  lived  on  terms  of  the  warmest  intimacy 
for  some  time.  Then  a  young  swell,  who  had  enrolled 
himself  among  the  admirers  of  one  of  them,  began  to 
pay  court  to  the  other.  The  consequence  was  a  jeal- 
ousy which  finally  led  to  a  separation  of  the  whilom 
friends.  They  remained  members  of  the  same  com- 
pany, however,  and  their  jealousies  found  vent  about 
the  theatre.  One  nisfht  after  a  dinner  washed  down 
with  much  champagne,  the  jilted  actress  became  very 
violent,  and  attempted  to  assault  her  rival  in  her 
dressing-room.  She  was  prevented,  and  went  off 
threatening  vengeance.  The  course  of  the  piece 
brought  them  together  in  an  impassioned  scene,  in 
the  conclusion  of  which  the  one  had  to  warn  the  other 
off  with  a  dagger.  Heated  with  wine,  her  jealousy 
inflamed  by  the  presence  of  her  faithless  lover  in  a 
stage  box,  the  jilted  artiste  lost  control  of  herself,  and 
instead  of  a  warning,  dealt  her  rival  a  stab.  The 
wounded  woman  fell  bleed  in  2;  to  the  stage.  For- 
tunately  she  was  not  fatally  hurt,  and  her  assailant 
escaped  with  an  authoritative  order  to  leave  Russia, 
and  stay  away. 

Miss  Bertha  Welby,  who  is  a  popular  and  talented 
actress,  was  a  member  of  the  "  Only  a  Farmer's 
Daughter"  company,  of  which  Miss  Lilian  Cleves 
was  the  star.     The  two   ladies  could    not    get  along 


474 


TIIK    GKEEX-EYKD    AN'I)    OTHER    MOXSTERS. 


together.  Miss  Wclhy  iiisLstod  tliut  Mis.s  Clcvcs  was 
jealous  of  lier  rival's  suceess ;  and  so  it  went  on, 
until  at  last  a  low  ruffian  visited  Miss  AVelby  in  her 
dressing-room  one  night,  after  the  performance,  and 
demanded  money  from  her  for  having  applauded  her 
in  several  towns.  She  was  afraid  of  the  fellow,  she 
said,  and  so  paid  him  the  sum  he  asked  —  $1').  She 
then  told  him   to  go,  and  ho  went ;  but  Miss  Cloves,  it 


BLACKMAILING    AN    ACTRESS. 

appears,  liad  assembled  the  members  of  the  company 
at  the  door  of  the  dressing-room  to  witness  the  J^ay- 
inent  of  the  man,  who,  as  she  declared,  had  led  the 
clarpic  that  was  making  Miss  "Welby  a  greater  actress 
than  the  star.  Miss  Welby  asserted  that  the  whoh; 
thing  was  a  piece  of  blackmail,  and  that  Miss  Clcvcs 
had  instigated  it. 

Operatic  stars  arc  violent  sometimes  in  those  exhi- 
bitions of  jealousy.  Jt  wilM)e  remembered  llial  at  the 
last  Cincinnati    music    festival,  Gcrster    absolutely    re- 


THE    GREEN-EYED    AND    OTHER    MONSTERS.  475 

fused  to  sing  if  Miss  Caiy  preceded  her,  and  the  Hun- 
garian prima  donna  was  induced  to  appear  only  by  tlie 
jrraceful  withdrawal  of  the  fair  American  songstress. 
Miss  Kelloijsr  JHid  Mile.  Roze  had  a  bitter  Avar  in  St. 
Louis  in  1879,  on  account  of  their  dressing-rooms,  the 
American  prima  donna  insisting  on  having  the  best  the 
Grand  Opera  House  afforded.  She  got  it  at  last,  and 
was  shocked  when  she  heard  a  story  to  the  effect  that 
Wakefield ,  then  one  of  the  proprietors,  had  a  peep-hole 
above  the  dressing-room  which  he  not  only  made  use  of 
himself  but  invited  his  friends  to  use. 

The  jealousy  of  Mrs.  McKee  Rankin  (Kitty  Blanch- 
ard)  has  more  than  once  been  made  the  subject  of  news- 
paper articles.  She  thought  her  robust  husband  went 
through  the  love  scene  with  the  Widow  (Miss  Eva 
Randolph)  in  the  play  with  too  lavish  a  display  of 
affection,  and  the  green-eyed  monster  took  possession 
of  her.  She  stood  in  the  wings  every  night  and 
watched  the  scene,  and  the  more  she  watched  it  the 
madder  she  got  until  at  last  she  demanded  from-  her 
husband  that  Miss  Randolph  be  dismissed.  This  Mr. 
Rankin  sternly  refused  to  do.  Then  Mrs.  Rankin  re- 
fused to  play,  and  a  clever  young  lady  was  given  the  part 
of  Billy  Piper.  The  newspapers  praised  the  new  Billy 
so  highly  that  Mrs.  Rankin  hurried  back  to  resume  the 
part,  but  remained  cold  toward  and  entirely  estranged 
from  her  husband.  After  some  time  the  wound  was 
healed  and  the  couple  reunited.  There  were  several 
split-ups  of  this  kind,  but  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rankin  are 
now  living  happily  together,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that 
the  success  of  their  new  play,  "  49,"  will  keep  them 
happy  forever. 

Now  and  then  the  jealous  actress's  feelings  are  ex- 
pressed in  a  rather  ridiculous  manner.  During  the  run 
of  a  spectacular  play  in  one  of  the  large  cities  one  of 


47G 


THE    GKEEX-EYED    AND    OTHER    MONSTEUS. 


those  old  chaps  who  like  to  linger  behind  the  scenes 
!ind  tickle  the  fairies  under  the  chin  succeeded  iu  inakin«^' 
hiinslf  the  admirer  of  one  of  the  ladies  —  one  who 
played  a  i)rince  or  something  of  that  kind.  He 
brought    her    flowers  every  night,   took  her  to   supper 


.jj-ALui:>v, 


after  the  play,  and  often  j)aid  for  a  ride  under  the 
starry  night  at  a  time  when  he  shouM  have  been  rest- 
ing his  hoary  head  upon  jiis  ])iI]ow  at  home.  He  kept 
tiiis  up  for  a  while;  then  he  suddenly  turned  his  at- 
tention to  another   gill,  who  was  doing  a   ski])ping-rope 


THH  GREEN-EYED  AND  OTHER  MONSTERS.    477 

dance  during  an  interval  in  the  pla3^  He  1)egan  to 
bring  her  flowers  and  to  feed  her  on  midnight  oysters, 
and  to  take  her  on  moonliglit  rides.  The  pretty  prince 
stood  it  as  long  as  she  could  ;  then  she  made  up  her 
mind  to  be  revenged  on  the  old  deceiver.  She  waited 
one  night  until  she  saw  him  talking  to  the  skipping- 
rope  dancer,  when  she  picked  uj)  a  broom,  and  steal- 
ing to  the  opposite  side  of  the  scene,  made  a  high  hit 
at  his  plug,  hat,  just  as  he  was  presenting  the  rival  a 
bouquet,  and  knocked  the  piece  of  head-gear  clear  into 
the  outfield.  The  ancient  Lothario  felt  around  amon<r 
the  fcAV  hairs  on  the  top  of  his  head  to  see  whether 
a  piece  of  skull  had  not  been  chipped  off;  the  skipping- 
rope  dancer  laughed  ;  the  pretty  prince  hauled  off  and 
was  about  to  bat  the  bouquet  to  second  base  when  the 
dancer  danced,  and  what  remained  to  do  was  to  advise 
the  "  old  gray  "  to  go,  which  he  did  rapidly  after  re- 
gaining possession  of  his  battered  hat.  He  was  ad- 
vised that  if  he  returned  any  more  the  broom  would 
be  used  upon  himself  instead  of  his  hat ;  and  the  scenes 
that  he  had  haunted  so  long  knew  him  no  more  after 
that  nioht. 

A  New  York  wife  wondered  for  a  Ions:  time  where 
her  husband  went  at  night.  At  least  she  learned  that  he 
haunted  a  down-town  theatre.  She  knew  her  husband 
was  very  fond  of  the  drama,  but  was  astonished  when 
she  found  out  that  he  was  patronizing  the  play  without 
taking  her  along,  so  she  dressed  up  one  evening  and 
going  up  to  the  box-office,  asked  the  young  man  whose 
smiling  face  shone  through  the  window,  if  Mr.  So-and- 
So  was  there?  Now  she  had  gone  to  the  right  source 
for  her  information.  Mr.  So-and-So  had  taken  away 
the  affections  of  one  of  the  actresses  from  the  man  in 
the  box-office  ;  therefore  the  man  in  the  box-office 
manfully  replied  that  Mr.  So-and-So  was  back  in  Miss 


47.S 


Tin:  (;kki:n-kvi:i)  and  (vriii:u  monstkus. 


Whatdvccallcr's  clrcssiiiir-rooin.  Would  the  inaii  in 
the  box-office  bo  kiiid  enoui:;h  to  show  Mr.  So-aiid-So's 
wife  where  the  dressing-room  was  ?  IIi;  would,' most 
gladly.  Calling  his  assistant  to  the  window  the 
treasurer  took  the  lady  in  llirongli  the  stage  entrance 


EDWAKU   KKNDALL. 


and  pointed  out  the  dressing-room.  Sure  enough 
there  was  Mr.  So-and-So  in  very  close  relation  and 
very  close  conversation  Avith  Miss  "Wliatdyccallcr,  who 
beiuf  a  ballet  irirl,   in  llic  act  of  getting  herself  into 


THE   GREEN-EYED   AND    OTHER   MONSTERS.         479 

her  gauze  and  spangles,  had  little  else  on  than  her 
tights.  The  husband  was  astounded  ;  the  wife  was 
boiling  over  with  rage  ;  the  dancer  did  not  know  what 
to  make  of  it.  The  husband  said  that  there  was  blood 
in  his  spouse's  eye  and  fled  the  scene.  Mrs.  So-and- 
So  then  turned  her  attention  to  the  lady  in  summer 
costume,  and  there  was  a  war  of  words  that  ended  in 
the  actress  snapping  her  fingers  in  the  wife's  face, 
while  the  latter,  unable  to  do  or  say  anything  in  her 
rage,  strutted  out  after  her  faithless  lord  and  master, 
who  was  afraid  to  return  home  for  three  days,  and  did 
not  return  until  he  saw  a  "  personal "  in  the  Herald 
saying  that  all  would  be  forgiven  and  no  questions 
asked. 

The  meanest  trick,  I  think,  that  was  ever  prompted 
by  jealousy  was  one  in  which  a  well-known  comedian 
and  a  handsome  juvenile  lady  were  made  the  victims. 
Having  determined  to  go  to  a  fancy  dress  ball,  they 
borrowed  a  Mephistopheles  and  Venus  costume,  and 
having  dressed  at  the  theatre  in  "which  they  were  play- 
ingj  took  their  clothes  to  their  boarding-house,  the 
comedian  retaining  only  his  ulster  and  the  young  lady 
only  her  silk  fur-lined  cloak.  In  the  same  house  the 
leading  lady  roomed,  and  as  the  comedian  had  been 
somewhat  attentive  to  her  she  grew  jealous  when  she 
saw  him  escortino;  the  other  flame  to  the  ball,  and  that 
both  might  be.  taught  a  lesson  she  resolved  upon  a  plan 
of  action  which  she  faithfully  carried  out.  The 
comedian  and  his  companion  had  plenty  of  fun  at  the 
ball.  They  returned  to  their  boarding-house  about  three 
A.  M.  Both  had  latch-keys,  but  they  wouldn't  work. 
Somebody  had  fastened  down  the  bolt.  What  were 
they  to  do?  It  was  a  cold  morning  with  snow  on  the 
irround  and  snow  still  fallinsr.  Their  carriao;e  had 
gone  ;   they  didn't  wish  to  go  to  a  hotel  in  masquerade 


480        TUF  f;F>KE\-KVFn  wn  otiikii  :moxi5ters. 


OUT   IN   THE   COLD. 


stylo,  so   they   resolved    to  stiek  it  out  until  the  door 
would   1)C  opened.     And  they  did   so.     The  comedian 


THE    GREEN-EYED   AND    OTHER   MONSTERS.         481 

wrapped  his  ulster  around  him  and  sat  down  on  the 
doorstep ;  the  young  lady  gathered  her  cloak  around 
her  as  tightly  as  she  could  and  stood  up  in  a  corner  of 
the  entrance,  shivering  and  wondering  what  the  people 
thought  who  passed  by  and  looked  at  them.  They  re- 
mained there  three  hours,  and  when  the  door  was 
opened,  it  was  the  leading  lady  who  did  the  opening. 
She  laughed  as  if  she  would  lose  her  life  in  the  effort 
when  she  saw  the  plight  the  two  were  in,  and  said  as 
they  passed  up  the  hall  that  she  was  sorry  she  had  put 
down  that  bolt  when  she  came  home,  but  she  thought 
they  were  both  in  the  house. 

The  story  of  an  actor's  jealousy  is  nicely  told  by  a 
New  York  paper  in  the  following :  A  handsome  young 
actress  attached  regularly  to  one  of  the  New  York 
theatres  has  a  husband  and  a  baby,  a  sickly  little  thing, 
and  the  husband  is  outrageously  jealous,  all  the  more 
that  this  season  he  has  done  "job  work,"  which  has 
kept  him  "  on  the  road  "  pretty  constantly.  Lately 
he  "  came  in,"  the  "  combination  "  with  which  he  was 
connected  having  "  gone  up."  He  arrived  unexpect- 
edly late  one  afternoon,  and  found  his  wife  out.  On 
the  table  lay  a  note  addressed  to  her  in  a  masculine 
hand.     It  was  open  and  ran  thus  :  — 

' '  Dear  Friend  ;  I  do  not  think  you  have  any  cause 
to  be  anxious  al)out  the  baby.  It  is  only  cutting  its 
teeth  a  little  hard  —  that's  all.  However,  as  you  de- 
sire it,  and  say  it  would  relieve  your  mind  while  you 
are  away  at  the  theatre,  I  will  come  to-night  about 
nine  and  stay  all  night  Avith  you.  Don't  speak  of  the 
trouble.  I  shall  only  be  too  glad  to  let  you  get  a  little 
sleep  after  being  up  so  much  with  baby. 

Your  true  friend,  K.  S.  Stanton,  M.  D." 

The  husband  was  furious  at  this  note,  seemingly  so 


482  THE    CiUEEN-EYED    AND    OTllKU    MONSTEUS. 

harmless.  He  thrust  it  into  his  pocket,  and  witliout 
waitini'  to  see  his  wife  strode  from  the  house.  He 
had  now,  ho  thoui^ht,  what  he  had  h)Mg  sus})ccted, 
proof  of  his  wife's  infidelity.  Why,  it  was  shamless  ! 
Dr.  Staunton  would  pass  the  night,  would  he,  and 
blame  it  on  the  ba])y  !  hut  he  should  find  that  there 
was  a  husband  around  ready  to  deal  terrible  vengeance 
ujion  the  betrayer.  Ilis  feelings  were  not  i)leasant 
ones,  as  he  lay  perdue  the  rest  of  the  day,  nursing  his 
wrath,  to  keep  it  warm.  When  the  pretty  young 
actress  came  home  she  was  told  that  a  gentleman  had 
called  and  gone  away  in  a  great  hurry,  leaving  no 
name.  At  about  Iialf-past  ten  that  evening,  while  she 
"was  at  the  theatre,  the  door  of  her  bed-room  was 
dragged  open  furiously,  and  the  enraged  husl)and 
rushed  in.  lie  looked  around  under  the  bed  and  into 
the  closets,  but  found  no  man. 

There  were,  however,  two  persons  in  the  room. 
One  an  infant  slumbering  peacefully  in  the  crib,  the 
other  a  lady  sitting  at  a  small  table  on  Avhich  lay  sev- 
eral little  bits  of  white  paper  into  which  she  was 
pouring  some  globules  from  a  tiny  bottle.  Her  eyes 
were  blue,  her  complexion  a  pure  pink  and  white,  and 
her  hair,  curling  in  loose  ringlets  over  her  well-formed 
head,  was  just  touched  with  gray.  She  looked  up  as- 
tonished and  said  :  — 

"  Don't  make  such  a  noise;  you'll  wake  the  child. 
Are  you  a  burglar  or  what  do  you  want?  " 

The  husband  paused  in  his  fruitless  search  and  re- 
plied :   "  I  want  that  man." 

"AVhat  man?" 

"  The  man  that's  made  an  appointment  Avith  my 
wife  for  to-niirht." 

"  Who  is  your  wife  and  what  business  have  you  in 
Miss 's  bed-room?"  asked  the  lady. 


THE  GREEN-EYED  AND  OTHER  MONSTERS.    483 

*'  Miss 's  my  wife," 

*'  Iiideccl  ;  well,  you  can't  make  me  believe  that  she 
ever  made  any  appointment  with  any  man  she  oughtn't 
to  make." 

"  I  can't,  can't  I?  read  that  then,"  he  said,  throw- 
mir  the  letter  on  the  table  and  scatterini>:  tlie  medicine. 
The  lady  read' the  letter  and  began  to  laugh,  which  en- 
raged the  husband  still  more. 

"  Where  have  you  hidden  this  Dr.  Stanton?  I  will 
blow  his  brains  out,"  he  cried. 

"  No,  you  Avon't." 

"You  see  if  I  don't." 

"  Well,  blow  then  :  I  am  Dr.  Stanton,  the  author  of 
that  letter,"  said  the  lady. 

She  had  to  sign  her  name,  Kate  S.  Stanton,  and 
show  him  that  the  writing  was  the  same  as  in  the  note, 
before  he  would  be  convinced,  and  then  he  was  the 
most  sheepish-looking  man  in  New  York  The  story 
got  out,  and  he  was  the  butt  of  every  actor  in  the 
city.  They  refused  to  believe  that  he  "  walked 
home."  They  condoled  with  him  on  account  of  his 
ill  health,  which  forced  him  to  stop  acting.  They 
recommended  him  to  consult  a  doctor,  especially  a 
lady  doctor,  Kate  Stanton,  for  example.  Altogether 
he  was  so  "  roasted  "  that  he  will  have  to  have  more 
than  a  mere  letter  in  future  to  make  him  thirst  for 
vengeance. 

"  Hang,  these  women  doctors  !  "  is  all  you  can  get 
him  to  say;  "  if  they  must  be  doctors,  why  can't 
they  sign  their  full  name,  and  not  make  trouble  be- 
tween man  and  wife?" 


CHAP  TEE     XXXV. 


JOHN    WILKES    liOOTlI,    PRESIDENT    LINCOLN'S    ASSASSIN. 


All  interview  with  .'in  old  stager  was  pul)lishecl  a  few 
months  aj^o  in  tlie  New  York  Dramatic  Neios,  which 
furnishes  some  new  ideas  about  John  Wilkes  Booth, 
brother  of  the  fllustrious  Edwin,  and  the  terrible  crime 
with  which  he  shook  a  nation  to  its  centre.  John 
"Wilkes  Booth,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  the  man 
who  shot  and  killed  President  Lincoln,  while  the  latter 
was  witnessing  a  performance  of  "Our  American 
Cousin,"  at  Ford's  Theatre,  Washington,  D.  C,  on  the 
night  of  April  14,  1805.  Laura  Kecne  was  on  the 
staire  at  the  time.  Wilkes  Booth  entered  the  Presi- 
dent's  box  and  shot  him  in  the  back  of  the  head.  He 
then  made  his  escape  ])y  leaping  from  the  box  to  the 
staire,  and  rumiinu:  thence  through  the  stage  entrance 
to  the  street,  where  he  leaped  on  a  horse  in  waiting  for 
him.  As  he  sprang  from  the  l)ox,  his  foot  caught  in 
the  American  flag  which  was  draped  around  the  railing, 
and  he  fell,  spraining  his  ankle.  Landing  on  the  stage, 
he  jumped  np,  and  waving  a  dagger  over  his  head, 
he  shouted,  "  tiic  semper  tyrannic.''  He  was  subse- 
quently shot  by  Sergeant  Corbett,  while  attempting  to 
escape  from  a  barn  in  which  he  had  sought  I'cfuge. 

Said  a  veteran  actor,  referring  back  a  score  of 
years,  to  Wilkes  Booth's  opening  at  Wallack's  old 
theatre,  on  Broadway,  near  Broome  Street:  "The 
piece  to  open  in  was  '  Kichard  III.'  Monday  morn- 
ing came  for  rehearsal  with  the  star,  and  the  company 

(484) 


JOHN   WILKES    BOOTH. 


485 


had  all  assembled  awaiting  him.  Many  were  the 
stories  told  of  his  wonderful  gifts  and  eccentricities. 
One  old  member  of  the  company,  who  had  played 
with  him  through  Georgia,  prophesied  he  would  make 


JOHN  WILKES  BOOTH. 


imy 


a  terrific  hit.  Said  he :  '  I  am  an  old  man  at  the 
business  and  have  seen  and  played  with  some  of  the 
greatest  tragedians   the   world   has    ever  seen.     I've 


486  JOHN   WILKES    BOOTH. 

phucd  second  to  Macrcudy.  I've  divided  the  aj)pl;uiso 
with  Charles  Kean.  I've  acted  often  with  Forrest, 
but  in  all  my  long  years  of  professional  exi)ericnce  this 
young  man  Wilkes  Booth  (I  might  call  him  a  boy), 
this  boy  is  the  first  actor  that  ever  (to  use  a  })r()fes- 
sibnal  term)  knocked  me  olf  my  i)ins,  n[)set  and  com- 
pletely left  me  without  a  word  to  say  !  Yes,  sir,  an 
old  actor  like  me  that  you  would  sui)pose  an  earth- 
quake could  not  move,  was  tongue-tied  —  unable  to 
speak  his  lines.'  '  Perhaps  you  never  knew  them,' 
said  our  saucy  soubrette.  The  old  man  smiled,  and 
then  glaring  at  her  said  :  '  Not  know  Shakespeare  ? '  He 
turned  from  her  with  a  contemptuous  smile.  '  Why, 
then,'  said  Jim  Collier,  '  were  you  so  much  at  sea  if 
you  were  so  well  up  in  the  lines?  '  '  Wait  till  you  see 
him  yourself,  then  ask.  I  tell  you,  gentlemen,  there 
is  more  magnetism  in  Wilkes  Booth's  eye  than  in  any 
human  bein£i:'s  I  ever  saw.'  I  listened  to  the  old 
actor  with  pleasure,  and  set  him  down  as  an  enthu- 
siast—  a  not  uncommon  thing  among  some  veterans 
of  the  stage,  although,  as  a  rule  they  are  apt  to  carp  at 
the  present  and  deplore  the  downfall  of  the  i)ast. 
'  What  do  you  think?  '  said  Ed.  Tilton  to  me.  «  You 
know  the  young  man's  brother,  Edwin,  and  })layed 
with  the  father  of  the  boys.  So  have  I  ;  but  don't 
you  think  our  friend  exaggerates  a  bit?'  *  No,  I  do 
not,'  said  I,  '  for  1  know  the  genius  that  runs  in  the 
blood  of  the  Booth  family,  and  have  seen  it  crop  up 
at  times  in  just  such  a  manner  as  he  describes.  The 
last  engagement  that  the  great  Junius  Brutus  Booth 
plavcd  in  San  Francisco  only  a  few  weeks  before  his 
death,  I  was  cast  for  Parson  Welldo  in  a  "  New  Way 
to  Pay  Old  Debts."  And  when  tSir  Giles,  hemmed  in 
on  all  sides,  is  unable  to  break  the  combination  against 
him,  sees  the    parson  approaching,  the  lion  imnicdi- 


JOHN  WILKES  BOOTH.  487 

ately  becomes  a  lamb.  His  look  of  heavenly  sweet- 
ness when  I  told  him  of  the  marriage  of  his  daughter 
was  a  study ;  but  when  he  learned  she  was  wedded  to 
his  bitterest  enemy,  only  a  Dore's  pencil  could  depict 
the  diabolical  malignity  of  the  man.  The  marks  of  his 
fingers  I  carried  upon  my  throat  for  days  after,  and 
when  he  shrieked  in  my  ear  with  his  hot  breath,  and 
the  foam  dropping  from  his  lip  —  "  tell  me,  devil,  are 
they  married?  "  I  had  but  to  reply  "  they  are,"  but 
was  unable  to  do  so.  So  you  see  I  am  prepared  for 
anything  this  wonderful  young  man  may  turn  out 
to  be.' 

"At  that  moment  a  commotion  was  heard  at  the 
back  of* the  stage,  and  Baker's  voice  was  heard  to  say  : 
'  Oh  !  not  waiting  long  ;  you  are  on  time  !  '  And 
striding  down  the  centre  of  the  stage  came  the  young 
man  himself  who  Avas  destined  to  play  such  an  unfor- 
tunate part  in  the  history  of  our  country  afterwards. 
The  stage  being  dark  at  his  entrance,  the  foot  and 
border  lights  were  suddenly  turned  up  and  revealed  a 
face  and  form  not  easily  described  or  forgotten.  You 
have  seen  a  high-mettled  racer  with  his  sleek  skin  and 
eye  of  unusual  brilliancy  chafing  under  a  restless  im- 
jDatience  to  be  doing  something.  It  is  the  only  living 
thing  I  could  liken  him  to.  After  the  usual  introduc- 
tions were  over,  with  a  sharp,  jerky  manner  he  com- 
menced the  rehearsal.  I  watched  him  closely  and  per- 
ceived the  encomiums  passed  upon  him  by  the  old  actor 
were  not  in  the  least  exaggerated.  Reading  entirely 
new  to  us,  he  gave  ;  business  never  thought  of  by  the 
oldest  stager,  he  introduced  ;  a)id,  when  the  rehearsal 
was  over,  one  and  all  admitted  a  great  actor  was 
amongst  us.  Knowing  his  own  powers,  he  was  very 
particular  in  telling  those  around  him  not  to  be  af- 


488  JOHN  WILKES  BOOTH. 

frighted  at  niglit,  as  ho  might  (he  siiid,  with  a  smile) 
throw  a  little  more  lire  into  the  part  than  at  rehearsal. 
Lady  Anne  (Miss  Gray)  was  gently  admonished  ; 
liichtnond,  who  was  Jim  Collier,  was  blnntly  told  to 
look  ont  in  the  combat  scene.  Jim,  who  was  (and  prob- 
ably is  now)  something  of  an  athlete,  smiled  a  sickly 
smile  at  the  idea  of  anybody  getting  the  best  of  him  in 
a  combat  scene,  and  in  asottovoice  said  to  Jim  Ward, 
'  Keep  your  eye  on  me  to-night.' 

'*The  evening  arrived,  the  house  was  fair  only,  and 
his  reception  was  not  as  warm  as  his  merits  deserved. 
The  soliloquy  over,  then  came  the  scenes  M'ith  King 
Henrijy  and  breaking  loose  from  all  the  old  orthodox, 
tie-wig  business  of  the  Richards  since  the  days  of 
Garrick  down  to  Joannes,  he  gave  such  a  rendition  of 
the  crook-back  tyrant  as  was  never  seen  before,  and 
pcrhai)s  never  will  be  again.  Whether  it  was  in  the 
gentle  wooing  of  the  Lady  Anne,  the  hypocrisy  of  the 
king,  or  the  malignant  joy  at  Buckingham\s  capture 
down  to  the  light  and  death  of  the  tyrant,  originality 
was  stamped  all  over  and  through  the  performance. 
It  was  a  terrible  picture,  but  it  had  a  humerous  side 
one  night.  At  the  commencement  of  tiie  combat, 
when  Richard,  covered  with  ])lo()d  and  the  dust  of  the 
battle-liold,  crosses  swords  with  RicJimond,  Collier 
looked  defiant  and  almost  seemed  to  sav  :  *  Now,  Mr. 
Wilkes  Booth,  you  have  been  frightening  everyl)ody 
to-night,  try  it  on  me?'  And  at  the  lines  where 
liicliard  says,  'A  dreadful  lay  ;  here's  to  decide  it,' 
the  shower  of  blows  came  furious  from  Richard's 
sword  upon  the  devoted  earl's  head.  Now  was 
Collier's  turn,  and  bravely  did  he  retiiiii  thorn  ;  with 
renewed  strength  Richard  rained  l)lows  upon  blows 
80  fast  that  the  athletic  Jim  began  to  wince  —  as  much 


JOHN  WILKES  BOOTH.  489 

as  to  say,  '  How  long  is  this  going  to  last?  '  Nothing 
daunted,  Collier  with  both  hands  clenched  his  power- 
ful weapon,  but  it  was  only  a  feather  upon  Booth's 
sword.  Jim  was  the  first  to  show  evidence  of  exhaus- 
tion, and  no  wonder,  nothing  could  withstand  the 
trip-hammer  blows  of  that  Richard.  Watching  for 
his  head's  protection,  he  was  too  unmindful  of  his 
heels,  and  before  he  was  aware  of  it,  the  doughty  Jim 
for  once  was  discomfited  —  beaten;  and  lay  upon  his 
back  in  the  orchestra,  where  the  maddened  Booth  had 
driven  him. 

"  The  fight  over,  the  curtain  descended,  but  Booth 
could  not  rise.  Many  believed  him  dead,  but  no  ! 
there  was  the  hard  breathing  and  the  glazed,  open  eye. 
Could  it  be  possible  this  was  the  man  who  only  a  few 
moments  before  nobody  could  withstand  in  his  fury ; 
now  a  limp  mass  of  exhausted  nature,  his  nerves  all 
unstrung,  and  whom  a  child  might  conquer? 

*'  Well,  the  piece,  as  may  be  imagined,  was  a  suc- 
cess—  a  positive  and  an  unqualified  success,  so  much 
so  that  it  was  kept  on  the  balance  of  the  week.  "  The 
Robbers  "  was  called  for  rehearsal  next,  and  as  usual  the 
war  (then  in  progress)  was  the  sole  topic  of  conver- 
sation. The  company  was  pretty  evenly  divided  on 
the  question,  a  majority  of  them  having  played  through- 
out the  South,  and  had  the  same  sympathy  that  the  mer- 
chant had  who  saw  his  trade  diverted  through  other 
channels.  Not  a  word  of  politics  was  ever  heard  from 
Booth  during  the  first  week  of  his  engagement, 
although  he  was  an  attentive  listener  to  the  angry  dis- 
cussions pro  and  con.,  till  one  morning  somebody  (I 
forget  who)  read  aloud  from  a  newspaper  of  the  ar- 
rest of  Marshal  George  P.  Kane  in  Baltimore,  and  his 
incarceration  in  Fort  McHenry    by  order  of  Stanton. 


490  JOHN  WILKES  BOOTH. 

One  of  tho  company  (now  dead)  who  shall  be  name- 
less, approved  heartily  bf  the  act,  and  denounced  tho 
entire  city  of  Baltimore  as  ^a  hot-bed  of  rebels,  and 
should  be  razed  to  the  ijround.  His  opponent  took 
an  entirely  different  view  ot"  the  question,  and  thought 
the  levelling  to  the  earth  shoukl  be  done  to  one  Edwin 
Stanton  by  tho  aid  of  a  pistol  shot.  The  unfortunate 
Lincoln's  name  was  never  mentioned.  At  tho  suff- 
gestion  of  shooting  Stanton,  a  voice,  tremulous  with 
emotion,  at  tho  back  of  the  stage  was  heard  to  ex- 
claim. '  Yes,  sir,  you  are  right !  '  It  was  Booth's. 
^ I  know  George  P.  Kane  well  ;  he  is  my  friend,  and  the 
man  who  could  drag  him  from  the  bosom  of  his  family 
for  no  crime  whatever,  but  a  mere  suspicion  that  he 
ma]/  commit  one  some  time,  deserves  a  dog's  death  I  ' 

*'  It  was  not  the  matter  of  what  he  said,  it  was  the 
manner  and  general  appearance  of  the  speaker,  that 
awed  us.  It  would  remind  you  of  Lucifer's  defiance 
at  the  council.  He  stood  there  the  embodiment  of 
evil.  But  it  was  for  a  moment  only,  for  in  the  next 
breath  with  his  sharp,  ringing  voice,  he  exclaimed, 
'  Go  on  with  the  rehearsal  !  ' 

*'  That  day  and  its  events  passed  from  memories  of 
the  majority  of  us,  but  I  never  could  forget  the  scene  ; 
the  statuesque  figure  of  the  3'oung  man  uttering  those 
few  words  in  the  centre  of  the  old  stage  of  Wallack's 
can  never  be  forgotten.  Some  months  after  I  was 
awakened  from  a  sound  sleep  and  told  tliat  President 
Lincoln  had  been  shot.  Half  dazed  I  inquired  when, 
and  where,  and  being  told,  asked  who  was  the  assas- 
sin? Wilkes  Booth  is  thought  to  be,  but  it  is  only  a 
supposition  tliat  ho  is  the  guilty  one.  I  felt  it  was  but 
too  true,  for  I  could  see  him  in  my  mind's  eye  as  upon 
that  day  in  the  old  theatre  when  ho  would  have  under- 


JOHN   WILKES    BOOTH.  491 

taken  any  task,  however  bold.  A  few  hours  after 
proved  the  rumor  to  be  true.  The  last  act  of  the 
tragedy  all  are  familiar  with,  and  one  day  standing  at 
the  grave  outside  of  Baltimore  where  all  that  is  mor- 
tal of  father  and  son  lie,  I  could  not  stifle  memories  of 
the  past,  and  felt  like  dropping  a  tear  of  pity  over  the 
sudden  and  early  downfall  of  one  so  promising,  that 
had  he  lived  might  now  be  delighting  nightly  thousands 
with  his  powerful  acting." 


CHAPTER    XXXVT. 


THE    SUIMMEII    VACATION. 


The  close  of  a  theatrical  season,  which  rarely  exceeds 
forty  weeks,  and  which  terminates  in  the  month  of  June, 
is  always  hailed  by  the  prosperous  actor  as  an  occasion 
when  he  can  find  enjoyment  and  rest  in  some  cosy 
spot ;  or  if  he  is  in  the  ranks,  and  is  ambitious  to  be 
reckoned  in  the  constellation  of  dramatic  stars,  he 
looks  forward  to  his  summer  vacation  as  a  time  in 
which  he  will  have  opportunity  to  fix  up  his  business 
for  the  coming  season  ;  or  if  he  has  not  yet  secured 
a  manager  —  probably  needing  one  with  money  —  he 
can  button-hole  the  financiers  of  the  "  Square,"  as 
the  meeting-place  and  mart  of  the  theatrical  fraternity 
of  the  entire  continent  is  termed.  The  stars  are 
becoming  so  numerous,  and,  indeed,  so  insignificant, 
that  even  members  of  the  variety  profession  with  the 
thinnest  pretensions  in  the  world  to  dramatic  distinc- 
tion, and  there  are  few  on  the  legitimate  stage  above 
the  ranks  of  utility,  who  have  not  aspirations  of  the 
same  bright  and  twinkling  kind.  The  beginning  of 
every  season  finds  a  hundred  or  more  new  combina- 
tions, with  little  talent  and  less  money,  starting  out 
on  the  road  ;  and  one,  two,  or  tlireo  weeks  brings 
them  back,  either  "  on  their  baggage,"  or  "  on  their 
uppers,"  — that  is,  the  railroad  company  carries  them 
home  and  holds  the  baggage  lor  their  fares,  or  they 
*' count  the  railroad  ties,"  which  is  a  metaphoi-ic  way 
of  saying  they  walk  home.     Very  few  of  the  cheap 

(iU2) 


THE     SUMMER    VACATION. 


493 


variety  artists  of  the  present  day  are  worthy  of  even 
a  mean  phice  in  the  "  legit.,  "  as  they  designate  the 
legitimate  stage;  and  it  may  be  said,  too,  that  some 
stars  who  have  succeeded  in  reachino:  the  lei»:itimate 
boards  would  scarcely  be  reckoned  bright  ornaments 
among  the  gems  of  the  variety  stage.  This,  however, 
is  a  subject  beyond  the  purposes  of  this  work,  and  so 
I  will  not  go  further  into  it. 


LA    GRAND    DUCHESS. 


The  actor  and  actress  who  have  settled  down  to  the 
regular  routine  of  general  work  are  among  the  persons 
who  get  most  enjoyment  for  their  money  during  their 
summer  vacation.  Stars,  male  and  female  alike,  who 
have  made  money  and  reached  a  satisfactory  round  on 
the  ladder  of  fame,  though  they  may  not  have  cottages 
by  the  seaside,  or  summer  residences  of  anything 
like  a  pretentious  character,  can  also  be  counted 
among  the  number  who  *'  loaf  and  invite  their 
souls  "  in  a  profitable  and  pleasurable  manner.     Most 


494  THE    SUMMER   VACATION. 

of  the  niJile  stars  have  nice  little  nooks  by  river,  lake, 
or  seaside,  in  quiet,  cool,  and  shady  spots,  Avhile  the 
tragediennes  and  comedieinies  of  prominence  and  for- 
tune seem  to  prefer  either  handsome  residences  in  New 
York  or  other  Eastern  metropolis,  or  else  a  watering- 
place  cottage.  Maggie  Mitchell  prefers  Long  Branch. 
So  docs  Mary  Anderson,  who  lives  a  very  secluded  life 
at  this  gay  resort.  Most  of  her  time  is  passed  in  play- 
ing with  her  little  step-sister  on  the  lawn  of  their 
pretty  place.  She  rides  on  horseback  agreat'deal,  and 
takes  an  occasional  short  cruise  on  her  new  yacht, 
*'  The  Galatea,"  which  she  has  named  after  the  latest 
role  added  to  her  repertoire.  Minnie  Palmer,  about 
the  only  real  rival  Lotta  has  got,  summers  at  Long 
Branch.  Emma  Al)bott  goes  to  Capo  Ann.  Lester 
"Wallack  devotes  himself  and  his  vacation  to  makin^r 
short  trips  in  his  steam  yacht.  John  McCuilough 
hasn't  settled  down  auywhere  yet.  Last  year  he  went 
to  England  to  work  and  win  a  London  reputation  ; 
this  year  he  is  with  Gen.  Sheridan  in  the  Yellowstone 
Valley.  Fred.  Marsden  likes  to  go  fishing  at  Salmon 
Lake.  ]\IcKee  Raukin  has  a  stock  farm  at  Bois  Blanc, 
Canada,  where  he  spends  his  summers.  Joiiii  W. 
Norton  flics  away  to  Coney  I.slaud,  Long  Branch,  and 
a  round  of  the  Eastern  watering-places,  Mrs.  Norton 
always  accompanying  him.  And  so  the  category 
mijzht  be  leuirthened  out.  But  it  is  useless.  Estab- 
lished  stars  have  estal)lished  fortunes  as  well  as  repu- 
tations only  by  dint  of  the  hardest,  and,  1  might  add, 
in  many  cases,  least  appreciated  kind  of  work,  and 
they  deserve  the  thousands  of  dollars  they  make  every 
year.  Few  of  the  great  stars  fall  less  than  $50,000 
for  a  forty  weeks'  season,  and  there  are  few  whoso 
share  goes  under  $1,000  a  week.  Joe  Emmet  accumu- 
lates money  faster,  probably,  than  any  other  man  who 


THE    SUMMER    VACATION.  495 

pliijs  to  the  same  prices,  and  John  McCullough  and 
Mary  Anderson  are  among  the  reapers  of  the  richest 
harvests.  Booth  seldom  phiys  a  season  through,  but 
when  he  does  he,  of  course,  carries  off  the  honors. 

Actors  and  actresses,  while  generous  as  a  class,  save 
their  money,  and  very  few  are  found  loitering  around  New 
York  "  broke,"  during  the  vacation  months.  Still  there 
are  cases  of  poverty.  I  have  known  a  former  popular 
Irish  comedian,  who  belongs  to  a  family  of  popular 
and  prosperous  members  of  the  profession,  to  walk 
the  streets  of  a  Western  town  many  a  day  without  a 
cent  in  his  pockets  and  nothing  to  look  up  to  at  night 
for  shelter  but  the  stars  high  and  pitiless  over  his  bald 
head.  Everybody  has  read  about  the  English  actor, 
who,  driven  to  distress,  and  standing  at  the  door  of 
starvation,  donned  an  old  gray  wig,  and  was  found 
singing  and  begging  around  Union  Square.  It  was 
only  when  a  policeman  in  arresting  him  accidentally 
pulled  off  his  wig  that  the  actor's  identity  and  condi- 
tion were  known.  The  former  was  carefully  concealed 
and  the  latter  cheerfully  and  liberally  relieved.  I  was 
at  a  banquet  given  by  the  press  of  St.  Louis  to  Thomas 
W.  Keene,  the  tragedian,  during  his  first  starring  sea- 
son, when  among  the  few  guests  who  sat  down  to  the 
table,  between  Billy  Crane  and  Stuart  Robson,  was  a 
short,  stout,  gray-headed,  and  long  gray-bearded  man, 
whom  nobody  knew.  The  night  was  bitterly  cold, 
still  the  old  fellow  wore  only  a  long,  gi'ay  linen  duster 
over«a  thin,  red  woollen  shirt,  with  a  very  queer  pair  of 
pantaloons  and  rough  brogans.  His  high,  battered 
and  wide-brimmed  hat  rested  under  his  chair  as  if  he 
was  afraid  some  of  the  company  would  steal  it.  He 
swept  clean  every  dish  set  before  him,  emptied  every 
glass  of  wine,  and  with  bent  head,  and  knife  and  fork 
in  hand,  was  waiting  anxiously  for  each  course  when  it 


490 


THE    SUMMER    VACATION. 


came.  As  soon  as  ho  was  noticed  tlie  question  passed 
around,  ♦'  Who  is  the  old  gray?  "  and  fun  was  poked 
at  him  ruthlessly  ;  but  it  rebounded  lightly  froni  the 
folds  of  his  linen  duster,  and  he  heeded  not  the  blows. 
When  the  toasts  went  around  the  old  man  was  asked 


JOHN   W.  NORTON. 

to  respond  to  one,  and  got  uj)  and  sjjoke  charmingly 
for  half  an  hour  or  more,  introducing thelMarscillaise, 
both  as  a  martial  hymn,  and  as  a  song  and  dance. 
Then  he  explained  how  the  city  editor  of  a  local  paper 
had  sent  him  to  report  the  banquet ;  how  he  came  shiv- 
ering to  the  marrow  of  his  bones  to  the  door  of  the 


y?. 


^^ 


Ki  t 


A>i 


'.># 


MARY    ANDERSON 


THE    SUMMER   VACATION.  497 

Club  House  —  the  most  fashionable  in  the  city  —  and 
asked  permission  to  go  into  the  kitchen  to  warm  him- 
self previous  to  appearing  at  the  banquet  board,  a  per- 
mission which  was  granted.  The  old  man  spoke  so 
eloquently  in  telling  a  pitiful  story  of  his  poverty,  Pat 
Short,  treasurer  of  the  Olympic,  at  the  instigation,  I 
think,  of  Manager  Norton  of  the  Grand  Opera  House, 
picked  up  a  hat  and  took  up  a  collection  from  the 
ten  newspaper  men  and  ten  actors  present.  The  col- 
lection netted  $39.75,  which  was  poured  in  the  old 
man's  two  hands,  while  his  eyes  were  wet  with  tears. 
Then  he  was  freely  plied  with  wine,  and  danced,  sang, 
and  gave  phrenological  examinations  for  two  hours, 
when  the  crowd  dispersed  in  the  greatest  good  humor. 
Stuart  Robson  told  this  story  to  a  Boston  Times  man 
who  made  a  two-column  article  out  of  it  that  travelled 
all  over  the  country,  and  in  which  all  the  credit  of  the 
charity  with  the  figures  greatly  increased  was  appro- 
priated unjustly,  by  Messrs.  Robson  &  Crane.  But 
this  is  not  what  I  started  out  about. 

"  While  the  actor  seeks  deep  shadows  under  the  far- 
reaching  arms  of  huge  trees,"  writes  the  New  York 
Dramatic  Times  man,  "  or  leisurely  smokes  his  pipe 
beneath  heavy  boughs,  thick  with  scented  buds  and  blos- 
soms, some  one  is  working  out  his  programme  for  the 
next  season.  This  '  some  one  '  is  often  confounded 
with  the  actor  himself,  or  is  taken  for  the  parasite  who 
fosters  and  thrives  on  some  indirect  vein  of  the  livino; 
and  active  theatrical  body.  The  sturdy  man  of  busi- 
ness, who  by  chance  happens  to  pass  the  pavement 
between  Broadway  and  Fifth  Avenue,  on  the  south 
side  of  Union  Square,  fancies  that  the  crowd  of  well- 
dressed  and,  as  a  rule,  quiet  men,  are  idle  profes- 
sionals, lounging  away  a  warm  day  between  gossip 
and  beer.     He  little  knows  that  this  is  the  theatrical 


498  THE    SUMMER    VACATION. 

exchange  of  the  Wej^tern  World,  where  bushiess  h 
carried  on  in  the  same  honorable  mode  as  at  the 
Stock  Exchange,  without  the  Bedlam  noises,  and  that 
the  seeming  drifters  under  the  grateful  shade  of  the 
Morton  House  are  as  shrewd  in  lookins:  at  the  run  of 
the  theatrical  market  as  any  "Wall  Street  broker. 
Every  theatre  or  nomadic  attraction  throughout  the 
United  States  has,  at  some  time  during  the  day,  a 
*  some  one  '  looking  out  for  *  dates  '  and  '  book- 
ing '  memoranda  for  future  contracts.  Without  any 
aijreement  to  meet  or  transact  business,  the  '  some 
one  '  appears  with  the  June  roses  and  makes  it  a  point 
to  pass  the  Rialto  between  the  hours  of  ten  a.  m.  and 
four  p.  M.  The  affairs  of  this  exchanji^e  are  jriirantio 
(when  for  instance  one  manager  gi^cs  bona  Jide  evi- 
dence that  he  has  cleared  $40,000  in  the  past  season), 
and  though  it  would  be  impossible  to  make  an  estimate 
of  the  total  amount,  it  is  safe  to  say  that  millions  are^ 
the  result  of  these  seemingly  casual  meetings. 

*'  A  guide  published  last  year  gives  a  total  of  about 
four  thousand  five  hundred  theatres,  that  kept  open 
their  doors  for  an  average  of  forty  weeks.  Taking 
the  poor  attraction,  with  the  star  that  fills  the  theatre 
to  overflowing,  the  average  receipts  would  be  about 
$150  for  each  theatre,  or  $(575, 000  paid  every  night 
for  amusements  throughout  the  United  States.  This 
would  make  a  total  for  one  week,  of  $4,050,000,  or, 
for  the  entire  season  of'iorty  weeks,  $102,000,000,  not 
counting  matinees.  Taking,  tiien,  an  industry  that 
brings  in  over  $1(50,000,000  inroundnumbersduringthe 
season,  the  neatly  dressed  men  that  are  said  to  '  hang 
around  the  Square  '  are  the  men  that  control  or  pull 
the  wires  and  set  the  machinery  in  motion.  Tiie  fig' 
urcs  ai)ove  are,  after  all,  but  a[)proximate,  and  neither 
include  matinees,  which  in  themselves  would  count  one 


THE    SUMMER    VACATION.  499 

million,  nor  does  it  include  the  circus  world,  which  is 
not  represented  on  the  Rialto. 

*'  On  the  other  side  of  the  ledger  will  be  found 
twenty-eight  thousand  actors  drawing  their  salaries 
from  these  receipts  ;  and  about  twelve  thousand  more, 
consisting  of  carpenters,  property-men,  scene-shifters, 
the  employees  of  the  front  of  the  theatre,  etc.  Twenty 
dollars  a  week  each  would  make  a  fair  average  for  the 
entire  forty  thousand,  and  would  aggregate  a  total  of 
$32,000,000  in  salaries  alone.  Add  to  this  the  rent 
of  the  four  thousand  live  hundred  diflerent  theatres 
and  halls  which,  at  a  moderate  calculation  of  say 
$4,000  each,  would  make  $18,000,000  for  the  year. 

*'  ThB  season  having  closed,  actors  seek  secluded 
spots,  revel  in  the  enjoyment  of  fljumel  shirts  and 
country  life,  enjoying  a  dolce  far  niente  either  by  sea- 
shore or  in  wooded  glens,  and  are  described  as  '  rest- 
ing.' In  the  nooks  many  have  charming  households, 
and  under  their  roof-trees  happiness  reigns,  without 
much  reference  to  '  shop.'  The  manager  or  agent, 
however,  as  soon  as  one  season  ends,  procures  his 
'  booking  '  book  and  starts  for  the  Square.  His  plan 
may  be  to  play  his  attraction  in  the  South.  The  end 
of  his  route  will  then  likely  be  New  Orleans.  After 
having  his  date  in  that  city,  he  will  <  fill  up  '  his  time 
going  and  coming  back.  If  the  attraction  be  good,  he 
fills  his  time  by  playing  in  larger  cities  for  one  week  ; 
if  not,  he  makes  one  or  two-night  stands,  Avhich,  in- 
terpreted, means  that  his  company  plays  for  one  or  two 
nights  in  a  city.  Starting  in  September,  he  works  his 
way  down  by  Philadelphia,  Baltimore,  Washington, 
and  then  in  the  beaten  route  through  Kichmond,  Mem- 
phis, Atlanta,  etc.  This  route  fixing  shows  the  ex- 
perienced manager  ;  for  should  he,  for  instance,  have 
ihe  week  commencing  February  1st  in  New  Orleans, 


500  THE    SUJDIER   VACATION. 

be  would  liavc  a  niiiht  in  Mobile,  Alabama,  before 
reacbins:  tbere.  To  a  new  man  tbe  Mobile  manan^cr 
migbt  ofler  Saturday,  giving  tbe  company  time  to 
reacb  Now  Orleans  on  Monday.  If  tbis  be  accepted, 
it  would  sbow  inex]:)eriencc  in  the  route  maker,  as  tbe 
fat^bionable  nigbt  at  Mobile  is  Friday,  Saturday  being 
*  niircfers'  '  niixbt.  Ho  sbould  so  time  it  as  to  reach 
Mobile  on  Friday,  play  that  night  to  big  business,  have 
his  matinee,  and  do  the  best  he  could  with  Saturday 
night.  In  other  sections  of  the  country  he  must  know 
when  the  workman's  pay-day  is.  In  the  oil  and  mining 
regions,  for  instance,  the  men  are  paid  but  every  fort- 
night. The  attraction  which  reaches  there  soonest 
after  the  pay-day  faros  the  best. 

"Another  of  the  grave  considerations  is  the  question 
of  railroad  fares.  All  but  the  big  attractions  must 
take  into  serious  consideration  the  general  increase  of 
railroad  rates  to  the  profession.  Some  of  the  roads 
have  not  joined  in  the  pool,  and  still  cater  to  theatrical 
custom.  The  cities  on  these  routes  are  likely  to  have 
a  rush  of  attractions  this  season,  and,  as  aconso(|uence, 
will  before  long  yield  i)Oor  receipts.  At  any  rate  there 
is  a  tendency,  even  among  the  best-paying  companies, 
to  take  short  'jumps  '  this  season  (1882-3)  and  visit 
cities  that  would  have  been  passed  over  with  contempt 
a  short  time  since.  But  the  difference  of  travelling 
expenses  one  or  three  hundred  dollars  in  a  day,  with  a 
company  of  forty  people,  dragging  extra  baggage, 
moans  a  big  diHoronoc  in  profits. 

"  The  man  on  the  Square  has  to  look  out  for  all 
these  things,  as  well  as  the  pi-inting  of  the  company, 
one  of  the  most  inq)ortant  and  expensive  items  of 
a  travelling  conq)any,  an  item  which  will  often  make 
him  pass  wakoftd  ihiyn  and  sleepless  nights.  Those 
contracts,  of  course,  vary  for  the  different  organiza- 


THE   SUMMER  VACATION.  501 

tions.  The  big  theatrical  gun  as  Avell  as  the  smallest, 
either  personally  or  through  agents,  keeps  himself 
posted  of  the  aifairs  of  the  Rial  to.  No  matter  as  to 
how  heavy  calibre  the  big  gun  may  be,  he  may  tell  his 
friend  he  don't  visit  the  Square,  but  he  does,  or  is 
sure  to  let  it  be  known  that  he  lives  at  the  Union 
Square  Hotel,  or  at  some  other  hotel  near  by,  where 
his  booking  is  done.  Managers  of  provincial  theatres, 
eairer  to  fill  the  time  for  their  houses,  travel  eastward 
to  the  Mecca  of  theatredom,  or  have  their  booking 
done  by  local  agents  or  firms  engaged  in  this  city  in 
that  specialty  —  the  commission  for  an  attraction 
being  from  $5  to  $7.  One  firm  of  this  kind  in  Union 
Square  do  the  booking  for  more  than  fifty  theatres, 
while  another  and  larger  one  in  Twenty-third  Street 
controls  entire  circuits,  and  furnishes  attractions  for 
several  hundred  theatres.  The  manager  having  laid  the 
foundation  of  his  plan,  takes  the  summer  to  complete 
it,  chansino;  a  town  here,  or  a  date  there,  to  make  his 
route  as  complete  as  possible,  and  as  convenient  to 
travel  over,  so  as  to  reach  a  town  and  have  his  com- 
pany rest  before  appearing. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 


FUN    AMONG    THE    ELKS. 


The  benevolent  and  protective  order  of  Elks  is  a 
mystic  organization  whose  membership  is  made  up  al- 
most entirely  of  theatrical  people,  newspaper  men, 
and  people  who  have  some  claim  or  other  on  the  dra- 
matic profession.  It  is  a  nol)le  institution,  having  for 
its  foundation  those  grand  and  beautiful  principles  — 
friendship,  charity,  and  justice.  Every  prominent 
actor  in  the  country  is  found  on  its  rolls,  and  the  good 
work  it  accomplishes  i'rom  one  year  to  another  is 
extensive,  and  worthv  the  widest  recognition.  The 
only  thing  I  have  to  tind  fault  with  is  its  initiation  bus- 
iness. Being  a  jolly,  fuu-loviiig  set,  every  candidate 
is  put  through  in  the  liveliest  kind  of  style.  I  had  a 
friend,  a  low  comedian  named  Jughandle,  who  got  me 
to  be  an  Elk,  and  I  tlunk  they  put  u[)  an  unusually  inter- 
esting bill  for  mv  initiation.  In  fact,  I  don't  think  it 
was  a  genuine  Elk  initiation  at  all,  but  it  was  awful 
funny  for  those  who  witnessed,  and  not  a  bit  pleasant 
for  me. 

It  was  Sunday  afternoon  when  I  was  introduced  to 
the  mysteries  ofthis  Order.  The  first  person  I  met  in 
the  ante-chamber  of  the  lodge  room  was  an  otHcer 
called  Ihe  Outer  Spyglass.  He  ordered  two  strange 
Elks  to  lead  me  away  to  .-inollier  room  where  I  was 
Itlindfolded,  and  a  long  gown  was  thrown  over  me.  A 
lai-ge  red  box,  coffin-shaped,  with  hinges  in  the  middle 
of  lln^back,  and  a  rf)und  hole  in  the  middle  of  the  split 

(.002) 


FUN   AMONG   THE    ELKS.  503 

lid,  SO  that  by  opening  the  box,  adjusting  a  man's 
neck  to  the  place  intended  for  it,  and  then  closing  the 
box  again,  the  contrivance  became  the  ghastliest  sort 
of  a  pillory.  There  were  arm  openings  in  the  sides  of 
the  coiBn  and  the  lower  portion  which  had  been  sawed 
short  was  not  boarded  up,  so  that  the  legs  might  be  as 
free  as  possible  under  the  circumstances,  in  walking. 
Into  a  wooden  overcoat  of  this  kind  I  was  hurriedly 
thrust,  with  my  head  protruding  through  the  hole  in 
the  lid.  The  garment  had  been  built  for  a  man  with  a 
longer  and  thinner  neck  than  mine,  and  its  proportions 
were  so  entirely  out  of  keeping  with  my  physique, 
that  while  I  was  choking,  and  my  spinal  column 
threatened  to  crack  any  minute,  my  arms  and  legs 
were  suffering  the  severest  torture.  It  was  certainly 
a  comfort  to  know  that  dead  people  do  not  as  a  gen- 
eral thing  wear  their  ligneous  ulsters  in  this  style. 
When  I  had  the  overcoat  on,  the  attendants  tied -a 
piece  of  rope  around  my  neck,  a  three-pound  ^^I'^^yer- 
book  was  placed  in  my  right  hand,  and  a  euchre  deck 
of  cards  in  my  left.  Being  ready  for  the  sacrifice,  one 
of  the  Elks  was  delegated  to  introduce  me  to  the 
Order.  He  took  hold  of  the  rope  that  hung  from  my 
neck  and  hauled  me  up  to  the  door  at  which  the  Grand 
Microscope  stands  guard. 

"The  candidate  is  ready,"  said  the  outer  Spy- 
Glass. 

"  Let  him  enter  !  "  was  the  Microscope's  command. 

Trembling  and  helpless,  I  stood  at  last,  a  picture  of 
the  utmost  ridiculousness  and  misery,  in  the  presence 
of  the  High,  Mighty  and  Magnificent  Muck-a-Muck  of 
the  Order. 

"Quivering  candidate!"  the  Muck-a-Muck  ex- 
claimed. "The  Elks  give  you  greeting.  Every  person 
here  assembled  stretches  out  his  right  hand  to  you,  and 


504 


FUN  AMONG  THE  ELKS. 


the  champion  Indian-Chib  Swinger  will  now  give  you, 
in  one  solid  chunk,  the  congratulations  of  this  entire 
gathering  for  tiie  success  that  promises  to  attend  your 


A    CANUIDATK    IN    UliOALIA. 


attempt  to  enter  our  Order.     Cluh-Swinger,  congratu- 
late !  " 

The  Club-Swiuicer  did  so.     It  was  the  most  startling 
congratulation  I  was  ever  the  recij)ient  of.     If  a  train  of 


I^UN   AMONG    THE    ELKS.  505 

cars  travellino;  at  the  rate  of  100  miles  an  hour  had  run 
into  nie  I  could  not  have  been  more  surprised.  A  blow 
that  Avould  have  made  a  pile  driver  or  a  quartz  hammer 
feel  that  it  had  no  more  force  than  the  hind  leg  of  a 
house-fly  was  pljmted  on  the  cofiin  lid  right  over  the 
first  button  of  my  vest,  and  for  three  minutes  I  sped 
through  space.  When  I  landed  on  my  back  I  felt  as  if 
I  had  run  against  another  such  blow  speeding  in  an 
opposite  direction  to  the  first.  Every  bone  in  my  body 
was  jarred  to  my  finger  tips  and  toe-nails,  and  the 
wrench  my  neck  got  in  the  sudden  stopjDage  gave  me 
the  impression  that  my  spine  had  been  all  at  once 
lengthened  out  sixteen  feet  and  was  still  growing. 

"Potential  Pill-Prescribcr  !  "  the  Hiijh  Muck-a- 
Muck  commanded,  "  examine  the  candidate's  condition 
and  immediately  report  upon  the  same  !  How  has  he 
stood  the  congratulation?  " 

The  Master  Physician  felt  my  pulse,  muttered  to  him- 
self "  14,— 48,— 96,— 135,"  and  answered  "He  has 
stood  it  well,  your  Majesty." 

"  Then  let  him  thrice  make  the  circuit  of  the  Peculiar 
Circle  !  "  was  the  next  command. 

Several  Elks  helped  me  to  my  feet,  and  after  gather- 
ing up  the  scattered  euchre  deck  and  restoring  it  and 
the  prayer-book  to  my  outstretched  hands,  the  first 
attendant  seized  the  rope  still  dangling  from  my  neck, 
and  led  me  on  a  rapid  trot  around  the  lodge  room. 
Wherever  1  passed  heavy  blows  were  rained  upon  my 
coffin  covering,  and  I  imagined  I  heard  several  half- 
suppressed  laughs  among  my  tormentors.  I  was  begin- 
ning to  get  mad  and  had  about  made  up  my  mind  to 
throw  ofl'the  wooden  yoke  I  was  carrying  around,  tear 
the  bandage  from  my  eyes,  and  sail  in  and  punch  the 
heads  of  half-a-dozen  Elks,  when  I  was  pounced  upon, 
dragged  to  the  floor  and  roughly  relieved  of  the  coffin. 


506  FUN  AMONG  THE  KLKS. 

I  felt  better  after  this  und  calmly  awaited  the  next 
move. 

*'  Bring  the  candidate  })efore  the  throne,"  was  the 
next  command  of  the  High  Muck-a-^Iuck. 

With  the  assistance  of  a  few  Elks  I  succeeded  in 
reaching  a  spot  where  we  stopped,  and  which,  I  suppose, 
was  rijrht  in  the  midst  of  the  radiance  that  hovers  near- 
est  the  presiding  officer's  throne.  It  is  needless  to  say 
that  I  felt  very  badly,  and  I  must  have  looked  frightful, 
especially  wdien,  as  happened  just  then,  somebody 
clapped  a  demolished  stove-pipe  hat  on  my  head  to  add 
to  my  already  ridiculous  aspect.  I  had  hopes,  how- 
ever, that  the  end  was  near  ;  but  I  was  sadly  mistaken. 

"  Now,  tremlding  neophyte,"  said  the  High  Muck-a- 
Muck,  in  very  impressive  tones,  "  the  most  important 
part  of  our  ceremony  still  remains.  Hitherto  you  have 
had  all  the  fun  ;  from  this  time  on  the  fun  will  be  on  the 
side  of  the  assembled  P^lks.  Let  the  Grand  Microscoi)e 
search  the  candidate.  See  that  he  has  no  life-preserver 
under  his  vest,  or  prc-Kaphielite  panel  of  sole  leather 
concealed  in  that  portion  of  his  pantaloons  to  which 
the  hind  straps  of  his  susi)enders  are  fastened." 

"  He  is  entirely  defenceless,  your  Majesty,"  reported 
the  Grand  Microscope,  after  having  made  the  necessary 
examination. 

"  Then  let  him  learn  the  three  motions  through  which 
every  Prophet  passes  liefore  attaining  to  the  grand 
secrets  of  our  Order.  Let  him  tost  the  swiftness  of 
the  Descent,  the  roughness  of  the  Path  of  Progress,  and 
the  suddenness  of  the  Upward  flight  to  glory,  and  the 
possession  of  the  everlasting  talisman.  When  this  has 
been  done,  if  tlic  candidate  still  lives,  prepare,  my 
mystic  l)retiircn,  to  welcome  him  into  your  circle." 

My  attendants  now  dealt  with  me  very  kindly.  I 
hardly  knew  what  to  think  of  the  easy,  almost  respect- 


FUN  AMONG  THE  ELKS.  507 

ful,  manner  in  which  they  took  me  by  the  arm  as  we 
walked  along.  Not  a  word  was  said.  Silence  intense 
as  that  which  wields  a  spell  over  an  audience  while  some 
daring  act  is  in  progress  on  the  flying  trapeze,  seemed 
to  surround  me.  As  we  walked  I  felt  that  there  was 
the  slightest  bit  of  a  rise  —  a  gradual  going  upward  — 
to  my  path.  ,  I  paid  little  attention  to  this,  however, 
because  I  was  receiving  unusually  kind  treatment  at  the 
time.  I  had  just  made  up  my  mind  that  I  had  passed 
all  the  perilous  places  along  the  road,  and  was  about  to 
mutter  to  myself  a  mixture  of  thanks  and  self-gratula- 
tions  for  the  security  and  comparative  blissfulness  of 
my  condition,  when,  with  surprising  suddenness,  my 
attendants  caught  me  by  the  arms  and  legs,  gave  me  a 
gentle  waft  forward,  and  then,  reversing  the  motion, 
clapped  me  upon  a  rough  plank  at  a  very  steep  incline, 
down  which  I  shot  like  lightning,  regardless  of  the 
splinters  that  ran  up  into  the  tenderest  portions  of  my 
pantaloons,  and  occasionally  went  on  short  and  sharp 
expeditions  into  the  neighborhood  of  my  backbone. 
Down  !  Down  I  !  Down  !  ! !  I  slid,  until  I  thought  I  had 
started  from  the  top  end  of  Jacob's  ladder,  away  up 
beyond  the  furtherest  space  through  which  the  tiniest 
stars  twinkle,  and  was  on  a  rapid  and  important  journey 
to  the  centre  of  the  earth.  I  kept  on  thinking  this  way 
until,  for  a  moment,  there  was  a  cessation  of  the  splinter 
annoyance  upon  that  portion  of  my  anatomy  on  which 
I  usually  do  my  sleighing.  I  felt  myself  falling,  and 
then  I  felt  myself  stop.  The  force  of  gravitation  was 
never  before  so  fully  and  satisfactorily  impressed  upon 
me.  I  got  so  heavy  when  I  had  no  further  to  go  that 
I  nearly  crushed  my  life  out  with  my  own  weight,  and 
the  sitting  down  was  done  with  such  alacrity  that  a 
pile-driver  couldn't  have  sent  the  splinters  that  clung 
to  my  pantaloons  further  into  my  flesh.    Add  to  this  that 


508 


FUN   AMONG   THE   ELKS. 


the  first  thing  I  struck  was  not  a  spring  mattress,  or  a 
hii;h  hair  cushion,  but  a  wheel-barrow,  tilled  with  small 
wooden  cones,  with  sharp  edges  and  cruel  points.  The 
shock  caused  me  to  send  up  such  a  howl  that  I  imagined 
1  could  see  the  hair  of  every  Elk  in  the  land  standing  on 
end.  A  well-defined  laugh  answered  the  howl,  and 
before  I  could  think  of  the  front  end  of  the  prayers  for 
the  dead,  I  heard  the  High  Muck-a-Muck's  voice  ring 
out : — 

♦'  Wing  him  away,"  he  commanded,  "  on  Eincycle, 
the  one-wheeled  horse  of  the  Hereafter." 

They  wung  me  away  at  once.     I  discovered  that  the 
one-wheeled  horse   designated   by  the  High  iVIuck-a- 

Muck  when  he  made  use  of  the  half 
German  and  half  Latin  word  in  his 
command  was  a  very  modern  wheel- 
barrow. The  road  over  which  the 
winging  was  done  was,  to  say  the 
least,  an  unpleasant  one.  There 
was  an  obstruction  of  some  kind 
every  six  inches  —  hills  and  hollows 
without  number  —  and,  even  if  I  had 
not  already  been  i)hysically  shattered 
by  the  exciting  episodes  of  the  first 
part  of  the  initiation,  the  merciless 
jolting  I  got  and  the  shar[)-pointed 
cones  I  kei)t  dancing  up  and  down 
on  were  sufficient  torture  to  make 
MUCK-A-MUCK.     ^^^^  Yon^r  for  some  quiet,  peaceful  spot 

on  which  I  might  stretch  out  my  wearied  limbs  and  close 
my  eyes  forever.  I  don't  know  how  far  I  was  carried  over 
this  rough  road,  which  terminated  in  a  tank  ol'  chilly 
water,  into  which  I  was  unceremoniously  dnniix'd, 
while  a  shout  went  up  from  the  assembled  brotherhood 
that  indicated  that  they  were  highly  delighted  over  my 


FUN    AMONG    THE    ELKS.  509 

IDrospects  of  being  drowned.  After  sinking  three 
times  without  any  apparent  effort  having  been  made  to 
rescue  me,  I  evinced  a  disposition  to  remain  under 
water.  I  was  beginning  to  fill  up  rapidly,  and  celes- 
tial visions  were  already  flitting  before  me,  when 
something  sharp  ran  through  my  shoulder  and  I  felt 
myself  lifted  to  the  water's  surface. 

"  See  that  he  remains  blindfolded,"  shouted  the 
High  Muck-a-^Iuck,  and,  while  I  still  dangled  from  an 
iron  hook  on  the  end  of  a  stout  pole,  the  dripping 
handkerchief  was  tightened  across  my  eyes. 

"Put  him  through  the  Purgation  rite,"  was  the 
next  order,  in  accordance  with  which  I  was  thrown, 
face  forward,  upon  a  barrel,  and  one  Elk  taking  me  by 
the  heels  while  another  held  my  head,  I  was  rolled 
and  rolled  until  I  had  passed  through  one  of  the  most 
violent  spells  of  sea-sickness  anybody  ever  experi- 
enced. 

"Will  the  candidate  recover?"  asked  the  High 
Muck-a-Muck. 

"  I  have  some  hopes,  your  Majesty,"  answered  the 
Potential  Pill-Prescribcr. 

"  Then  bring  in  the  Krupp  gun,"  the  Muck-a-Muck 
commanded,  "  and  while  he  still  has  life,  let  the  can- 
didate climb  the  cloud-heights  around  which  many  a 
Prophet  has  soared." 

I  was  trembling  with  cold  up  to  the  time  the  High 
Muck-a-Muck  mentioned  the  Krupp  gun  ;  just  then  a 
chill  of  fear  ran  down  my  back  and  my  knees  knocked 
together  so  violently  that  I  could  hear  the  bones  rattle. 
The  great  cannon  was  rolled  in  and  placed  in  position 
near  where  I  stood. 

"  Spread  the  merciful  net  three  hundred  yards 
away,"  ordered  the  High  Muck-a-Muck,  "  and  sprinkle 
the  carpet  in  its  centre  with  fourteen  papers  of  tacks. 


510  FUN  AMONG  THE  ELKS. 

Place  the  sheet-iron  bumper  ten  yards  beyond,  to  pre- 
vent the  candidate  from  beini'  shot  out  ot"  l)()unds. 
Charge  the  cannon  with  thirty  pounds  of  powder  ;  load 
her  up  and  let  her  fly  !  " 

They  poured  the  thirty  pounds  of  powder  into  the 
huge  mouth  of  the  cannon,  rammed  down  an  iron  or 
steel  plate,  and  then  to  my  horror,  grabbed  me  and 
pu:?hed  me  into  the  piece  of  ordnance  until  my  feet 
rested  on  the  metallic  plate  and  my  head  barely  pro- 
truded from  the  top  of  the  war-engine.  Buckets  of 
chopped  ice  were  poured  in  to  fill  up  the  vacant  space, 
and  before  the  congealed  wadding  was  all  in,  my  toes 
and  fingers  were  completely  frost-bitten.  When  every- 
thing: seemed  to  be  in  readiness  the  Hij^h  Muck-a-Muck 
said  :  — 

"  The  candidate  has  no  hat  on.  Fish  his  plug  out 
of  the  lake,  put  an  air-cushion,  inside  and  then  deco- 
rate his  head  with  it." 

The  "air-cushion"  referred  to  was  only  a  l)lown 
bladder.  It  was  placed  in  the  top  of  my  bruised  and 
battered  wet  hat,  which  was  tightly  and  gracefully 
placed  upon  my  head. 

"Is  he  ready?"  shouted  the  High  Muck-a-Muck. 

"  He  is,"  was  the  Grand  Microscope's  answer. 

"  Then,  let  her  go  !  " 

Fiz  !  boom  !  !  bang  !  1  I  I  knew  the  match  was  at 
the  fuse  ;  felt  tiie  whole  busiiu's.s  give  way  ;  heard  the 
scream  of  the  powder  leaving  the  cannon  at  the  same 
moment  as  myself;  saw  the  flash  of  Are  as  it  burned 
my  eyebrows,  moustache  and  the  ends  of  my  hair  ;  had 
my  breath  swept  away  by  the  swiftness  of  my  flight, 
and  while  all  these  experiences  were  mingled  in  one 
instantaneous  jumble  in  my  mind,  whack  went  my 
head  against  the  sheet-iron  bumper;  bang  1  went  the 
explosive  bladder  in  my  hat,  and,  hurled  back  by  the 


FUN   AMONG    THE    ELKS.  511 

recoil,  I  fell  right  in  the  middle  of  the  carpet  space  in 
the  merciful  net,  just  back  in  the  midst  of  the  fourteen 
papers  of  tacks  that  had  been  sprinkled  there  for  my 
benefit.  I  howled  and  jumped  into  the  air,  but  every 
time  I  jumped  I  fell  back  again  and  got  a  fresh  invoice 
of  tacks  in  my  flesh.  Although  there  seemed  to  be 
nothing  particularly  mirth-provoking  in  my  situation, 
the  assembled  Elks  laughed  heartily  until  I  was  stuck 
as  full  of  carpet  tacks  as  a  boiled  ham  is  of  cloves  at  a 
pastry-cook's  ball.  Then  they  took  me  out  of  the 
net,  picked  the  tacks  out  of  my  back,  and  stood  me 
up,  weak  and  exhausted,  according  to  instructions,  in 
front  of  the  throne. 

*<  The  candidate,"  said  the  High  Muck-a-Muck, 
"has  given  satisfactory  evidence  of  his  fortitude  and 
endurance,  and  we  are  now  prepared  to  receive  him 
forever  into  our  number  as  an  Elk.  Let  him  take 
the  oath  and  kiss  the  branching  antlers." 

The  oath  was  administered  and  I  saluted  the  antlers 
with  my  lips  as  fervently  as  I  could  under  the  circum- 
stances. * 

"  Now  remove  the  blindfold." 

The  handkerchief  was  removed  from  my  eyes  and  I 
saw  —  nothing.     But  I  was  an  Elk. 

I  have  seen  many  candidates  initiated  into  this  Order 
since  that  time,  but  I  have  never  seen  any  such  pro- 
ceeding as  that  here  described,  which  leads  me  to  in- 
fer that  some  friends,  and  among  them  Jughandle,  put 
up  a  job  on  me  and  used  me  a  little  roughly,  for  the 
sake  of  the  sport  it  afforded  them. 


(512) 


THE    CTRrus   WORLD. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 


THE    CIRCUS    IS    HERE. 

A  "disengaged  canvasman "  who  was  probably 
driven  to  poetry  for  lack  of  other  work  wrote  the  fol- 
lowing spring  verses  which  were  published  in  the  New 
York  Clipper:  — 

In  the  spring  the  gorgeous  banners  float  upon  the  circus  tent, 

And  the  active  agents'  fancies  on  "  advances  "  all  are  bent. 

In  the  spring  the  "bounding  brothers  "  try  some  new  and  daring 

games, 
While  the  opposition  "  fakirs  "  call  each  other  awful  names. 

In  the  spring  the   "sideshow-blowers,"  with    their  never-failing 

tongues, 
Pump  out  paralyzing  language  from  their  copper-fastened  lungs. 
In  the  spring  the  fair  Circassian,  with  her  every  hair  on  end, 
Leaves  again  her  native  Brooklyn,  on  the  road  her  steps  to  wend. 

In  the  spring  ye   "  candy-butcher "   shows  confections  old    and 

tough, 
While  the  gentle  lemonadist  juggles  with  the  same  old  stuff. 
In  the  spring  ye  merry  jester  learns  conundrums  bright  and  new 
(Dug  up  by  the  Christy  Minstrels  in  the  year  of  '62). 

In  the  spring  — and  in  the  ring  —  the  riders  whirl  around  in  style, 
While  the  air  is  filled  with  romance  (and  rheumatics  —  I  should 

smile) ! 
In  the  spring  —  oh,  well,  I'll  cheesf  it,  for  I  haven't  got  a  cent, 
And  I  think  I  hear  the  landlord,  coming  up  to  ask  for  rent ! 

There  is  more  foct  than  poetry  in  these  lines.     The 

spring   brings    gaily  colored  posters,   like   flowers    of 

many  hues,  to  decorate  the  dead  walls  and  fences  ;  and 

litters  the   streets   witli  small  hand-bills  in  Avhich  the 

'^  '  (518) 


514  THE    ClltCUS    IS    IlEUE. 

wonders  of  the  evening  show  are  dwelt  upon  in  :i  style 
of  rhetoric  that  wonld  nnd^e  George  Francis  Train 
sick.  The  name  of  the  show  is  too  long  to  print  in 
this  book,  even  if  I  began  at  the  title-page  and  wrote 
small  and  close  through  every  page  down  to  the  lower 
right-hand  corner  of  the  back  cover.  Since  they  got 
to  consolidating  shows,  they  have  by  some  elastic 
process  begun  to  lengthen  out  the  name,  and  at  every 
reappearance  of  a  circus  in  a  town  the  bill-poster  must 
add  a  few  yards  to  the  length  of  his  fence  to  get  the 
improved  and  newly  elongated  name  on  it,  and  to  make 
a  few  square  yards  of  additional  space  for  the  fresh 
stock  of  impossible  pictures  the  artist  has  chopped 
out  for  the  show.  I  like  to  regard  the  ridiculous  art 
and  the  brazen  exaggeration  of  these  posters.  What 
consummate  impertinence  prompts  the  managers  of 
these  concerns  to  put  a  circus  on  paper  that  could 
never  have  an  existence  under  the  sun  is  somethinjr 
that  it  is  impossible  to  understand.  They  ask  and  they 
must  have  the  patronage  of  the  public  they  insult  by 
spreading  such  absurdities  upon  the  wall  as  the  picture 
of  ouQ  horse  lying  on  his  back  with  his  legs  up  and 
another  horse  standing  above  him,  their  eight  hoofs 
meeting  ;  or  of  a  man  being  blown  from  the  mouth  of 
a  cannon,  or  indeed  an}'^  of  the  other  ridiculous  and 
gaudy  illustrations  which  are  designed  to  catch  the  eye 
at  a  distance  of  one  hundred  yards  and  to  hold  the  at- 
tention long  enough  to  make  the  investigator  of  bill- 
board literature  part  with  a  half  dollar.  But  it  seems 
that  circus  managers  and  circus  agents  have  no  other 
idea  of  advertising  than  to  make  the  ink  and  the  colors 
on  their  posters  say  as  much  as  the  imagination  can  sug- 
gest, and  to  make  people  pay  for  the  privilege  of  find- 
ing out  that  they  have  been  bamboozled.  It  seems  to 
be  remunerative  thoni^h,  for  a  circus  can  create  irreater 


THE    CIRCUS    IS    HERE.  515 

commotion  in  a  town  than  a  big  fire,  and  from  the  mo- 
ment it  pitches  its  tents  —  a -city  of  canvas,  they  usually 
call  it  —  until  the  glory  of  the  visit  fades,  thousands 
are  interested  in  it  and  the  opening  of  its  doors  always 
finds  a  throng  with  tickets  in  hand  anxious  to  set  in- 
side  as  early  as  possible,  to  have  a  thorough  look  at 
the  menagerie  and  in  the  other  way,  by  putting  in  full 
time  to  get  their  money's  worth  out  of  the  show. 

The  circus  always  comes  to  town  with  a  flourish. 
There  is  a  grand  street  parade.  The  dozen  elephants 
and  sixteen  camels  follow  the  band  wagon,  and  then 
comes  the  cavalcade,  gentlemen  in  court  costumes  and 
ladies  in  rich  trailing  robes  with  jaunty  hat  of  gay 
ribbons  and  feathers  flying  in  the  breeze.  The  lion 
tamer  is  in  the  cage  with  the  feeble  animals  that  he 
keeps  stirring  up  with  his  whip  ;  the  clown  in  his  lit- 
tle chariot  with  his  trick  mule,  aflbrds  amusement  to 
the  children  along  the  line  ;  then  the  snake  charmer 
rolls  by  fondling  the  slimy  reptiles,  and  after  that 
comes  a  procession  of  red  wagons  with  trampish 
drivers  in  red  coats,  and  perhaps  there  are  some  gro- 
tesque figures  on  top  of  the  wagons.  At  the  rear  some 
enterprising  clothier  has  an  advertising  vehicle.  That 
is  about  all  there  is  to  it,  if  we  add  the  Undine  wao-on 
that  has  a  place  sometimes  at  the  head  and  sometimes 
in  the  middle  of  this  "gorgeous  street  pageant." 
Still  it  goes  from  one  end  of  town  to  the  other,  scarinir 
horses  and  creating  the  greatest  excitement  among  the 
circus-going  public.  The  $10,000  beauty  "gag" 
that  worked  so  successfully  last  season  when  Adam 
Forepaugh  claimed  to  have  paid  that  amount  to  Miss 
Louise  Montague,  a  variety  actress,  for  merely  appear- 
ing in  the  street  parade,  riding  on  a  howdah  high 
upon  the  back  of  his  largest  elephant  and  for  partici- 
pating in  the   grand   entree    at   the   opening  of  each 


516  THE   CIRCUS   IS  HERE. 

performance.  Barniim  tried  to  make  some  free  adver- 
tising for  himself  this  season  by  annoniicing  that  ho 
would  pay  $10,000  to  the  handsomest  man  and 
$20,000  to  the  handsomest  lady,  but  he  was  shrewd 
enouirh  to  see  that  the  scheme  Avould  not  brinir  him 
back  $30,000,  so  he  allowed  it  to  fall  through. 

This  subject  of  costly  ])eauties  recalls  an  incident 
that  took  place  in  a  Western  theatre.  At  the  house  in 
question  an  actress  was  performing  who,  in  times  gone 
by,  figured  as  the  faithless  sweetheart  of  an  eminent 
sport  in  that  very  city.  That  gentleman  hearing  that 
his  light  of  love  was  about  to  appear  in  a  new  line  vis- 
ited the  theatre  to  see  for  himself  whether  or  not  it  was 
really  she.  The  memory  of  past  troubles  caused  him 
to  drink  rather  more  than  was  good  for  him,  and  when 
he  took  his  seat  in  the  parquette  near  the  stage,  he  was 
in  a  great  measure  incapacitated  from  acting  with  cool- 
ness and  iudgmcnt.  He  believed  be  recognized  the 
woman  as  the  one  who  had  caused  him  so  much  sorrow 
and  trouble.  His  feelings  got  the  better  of  him,  and 
standing  up  in  his  seat  he  exclaimed  :  — 

"You  cost  nie  $25,000,  you  cost  me  $25,000,  and 
I'll  cut  your  d — d  heart  out !  " 

This  outcry  brougiit  one  of  the  members  of  the  com- 
pany to  her  assistance,  armed  with  a  property  revolver, 
and  the  air  was  full  of  war  and  rumors  of  war  until 
the  police  arrived.  The  $2">,000  victim  was  led  out 
and  the  play  went  on. 

While  the  parade  is  on  its  way  back  to  the  circus 
lot,  I  will  tell  the  reader  of  an  exciting  parade  that  was 
witnessed  at  Runcorn,  England,  last  summer:  Messrs. 
Sanger  &  Son,  who  were  exhil)iting  in  the  town,  had 
announced  a  procession  in  coimection  witii  their  great 
hippodrome,  and  from  twelve  to  one  o'clock,  altiiough 
rain  was  falling  very  heavily,  large  crowds  of  people 


THE    CIRCUS    IS    HERE. 


517 


began  to  assemble  in  the  Market  Square,  Bridge  Street 
and  the  wide  space  in  front  of  the  Town  Hall  and  the 
public  offices.  To  one  very  large  car  forty  horses  had 
been  harnessed,  to  be  driven  through  the  town  by  one 


TWENTY-FIVE    THOUSAND    DOLLAR   BEAUTY. 


man.  This  was  drawn  up  waiting  for  the  start,  almost 
opposite  the  Guardian  office,  while  higher  up  Bridge 
Street  stood  twelve  ponies  harnessed  to  a  smaller  car. 
Near  the  Town  Hall  stood  two   other  cars,  and  as   one 


518  THE    CIRCUS    IS    HERE, 

o'clock  ;ipproachcd  and  the  rain  showed  signs  of  abat- 
ing, the  procession  was  expected  very  shortly  to  form 
and  make  the  circuit  of  the  town.  Suddenly,  anions 
the  horses  standing  near  to  the  shop  of  Messrs.  Iland- 
ley  &  Co.,  there  was  a  great  commotion,  and  loud 
shouts  were  heard  to  "  Clear  the  road."  The  twelve 
ponies  had  taken  fright  and  were  rushing  down  Bridge 
Street  towards  the  fountain.  There  was  no  one  in 
charge,  and  it  was  evident  that  some  very  serious  acci- 
dent would  result  from  the  panic  which  seemed  to  have 
seized  the  horses.  To  make  matters  worse,  the  forty 
horses  became  frightened,  and,  with  the  ponderous  car 
behind  them,  joined  the  ponies  in  their  gallop.  Many 
persons  sought  refuge  in  the  shops  and  doorways. 
Those  who  were  not  fortunate  enough  to  reach  this 
shelter  were  trampled  upon  and  crushed,  and  the  scene 
was  one  of  the  wildest  excitement.  At  one  moment  it 
seemed  as  though  the  great  colossal  car  wouhl  be  over- 
turned among  the  struggling  crowd,  while  the  plate- 
glass  windows  in  the  shops  on  the  south  side  of  the  street 
were  within  an  inch  of  being  sma,shcd.  The  scene  was 
not  of  long  duration,  but  it  lasted  Ions:  euoufjh  to  in- 
jure  at  least  ten  people  and  imperil  the  safety  of  hun- 
dreds more.  When  nearing  the  commissioners'  offices, 
several  constables  who  were  in  the  court-room,  liear- 
ing  the  noise  outside,  rushed  into  the  street,  and  were 
just  in  time  to  seize  the  ponies  by  the  heads  and  turn 
them  down  Mersey  Street  before  they  reached  the 
Royal  Hotel.  TIh^  horses,  through  the  courageous 
exertions  of  the  police  and  some  of  Messrs.  Sanger  & 
Son's  diivers,  wero  brought  to  a  standstill  opposite  the 
Royal  Hotel. 

Many  people  affect  to  l)c  Indifferent  to  the  attrac- 
tions of  the  circus,  sayiug  that  they  saw  one  when  they 
were  young  and  as  all  circuses  are  the  same  there  is 


THE    CIRCUS    IS    HERE.  519 

no  use  in  going  to  see  canotlier.  These  people  are 
about  right.  There  has  been  nothing  new  in  the  gen- 
uine features  of  the  circus  for  the  past  fifty  years. 
There  are  a  few  deceptive  tricks  that  have  been  seen 
only  of  late  years  but  they  are  mere  ephemeral  illu- 
sions, easy  of  explanation,  and  time  will  take  them  out 
of  the  circus  ring  as  it  took  the  lion-taming  act.  I 
can  remember  the  time  when  the  cao-e  of  lions  was 
dragged  into  the  middle  of  the  arena  and  amid  the 
greatest  excitement  the  alleged  lion-tamer  went  in 
among  the  animals,  beat  them  about,  lay  down  upon 
the  back  of  one  and  put  his  head  between  the  wide- 
open  jaws  of  another.  Now  that  performance  is  lost 
sight  of  among  the  multitude  of  curiosities  in  the 
menageries.  The  great  unchangeal)le  features  of  a 
show,  the  gymnastic,  acrobatic  and  equestrian  work,  are 
the  same  now  that  it  was  a  half  century  ago.  Still 
with  all  its  want  of  novelty  it  is  attractive,  as  are  all 
shows,  and  grown  people  have  been  known  to  share 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  little  ones  in  playing  circus  after 
witnessing  a  performance  and  while  the  sawdust  fever 
was  still  on  them.  A  short,  funny  sketch  that  appeared 
in  the  Louisville  Courier- Jour  rial  will  do  to  illustrate 
the  hold  the  circus  has  upon  the  average  boy's  heart. 
The  writer  says  :  — 

"After  the  circus  had  opened  to  the  public  yesterday 
a  gray-haired  colored  brother,  who  held  the  hand  of  a 
boy  of  fourteen  as  both  stood  gazing  at  the  tent, 
shook  his  head  in  a  solemn  manner,  and  observed  :  — 

"  '  It's  no  use  to  cry  'bout  it,  sonny,  kase  we  am 
not  gwine  in  dar  no  how.' 

"  '  But  I  want  ter,'  whined  the  boy. 

"  '  In  course  you  does.  All  chill'en  of  your  aige 
run  to  evil  an'  wickedness,  an'  dey  mus'  be  sot  down 
on  by  dose  wid  experience.' 


520 


THE    CIRCUS     IS    HERE. 


ADAM    I'OUKrAUOH. 


"  "  You  used  to  go,  '   urged  the  boy. 
♦'  '  Siirtiu  I  did,  but  what  w:is  do  result?     I  had  sich 
ft  load  oil  my  conscioiico  dat  I  couldu't  sleep  niglits. 


THE   CIRCUS   IS   HERE.  621 

I  cum  powerful  nigh  bein'  a  lost  man,  an'  in  dem  days 
de  price  of  admishun  was  only  a  quarter,  too.' 

*'  *  Can't  we  both  git  in  for  fifty  cents? ' 

"  <  I  'speck  we  might,  but  to-morrer  you'd  be  bilin' 
ober  wid  wickedness  an'  I'd  be  a  backslipper  from  de 
church.  Hush  up,  now,  kase  I  hain't  got  but  thirty 
cents,  and  dar  am  no  show  fur  crawlin'  under  de 
canvas.' 

"The  boy  still  continued  to  cry,  and  the  old  man 
pulled  him  behind  a  wagon,  and  continued : 

*'  'Henry  Clay  Scott,  which  had  you  rather  do  — 
go  inter  de  circus  an'  den  take  de  awfullest  lickin'  a 
boy  eber  got,  or  have  a  glass  of  dat  red  lemonade  an' 
go  to  Heaben  when  you  die?  Befo'  you  decide  let  me 
explain  dat  I  mean  a  lickin'  which  will  take  ebery  inch 
of  de  hide  oif,  an'  I  also  mean  one  of  dem  big  glasses 
of  lemonade.  In  addishun,  I  would  obsarve  dat  a 
circus  am  gwine  on  in  Heaben  all  de  time,  an'  de  price 
of  admisshun  am  simply  nominal.  Now,  sah,  what 
do  you  say  ?  ' 

"  The  boy  took  the  lemonade,  but  he  drank  it  with 
tears  in  his  eyes." 

A  man  living  near  Bloomington,  Illinois,  in  1870, 
sold  his  stove  to  a  neighbor  to  obtain  funds  to  take 
his  family  to  a  circus  that  had  pitched  its  tents  near 
the  city.  When  he  got  back  he  said  he  was  not  a  bit 
sorry,  that  "  he'd  seen  the  clown,  an'  the  gals  a  ridin'j 
an'  the  fellows  doin'  flip-flaps,  an'  waz  so  perfectly 
satisfied  that  ef  another  suck-cus  came  alono;  next 
year,  an'  he  had  a  stove,  he'd  go  to  see  it  on  the  same 
terms  ag'in." 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 


UNDER    THE    CANVAS. 


The  one  great  wish  of  the  small  ])oy's  heart,  as  he 
stands  at  a  respectful  distance  from  the  ticket  wagon 
watching  the  huge  canvas  rise  and  siniv  —  apparently 
with  as  much  ease  as  the  flag  flies  from  the  top  of  the 
centre-pole  —  is  to  get  inside  the  tent  before  the  band 
begins  to  play.  He  may  not  have  a  cent  to  pay  the 
admission,  but  he  has  Micawbcrish  hopes  that  far 
surpass  any  money  value  that  might  bo  placed  upon  a 
small  boy,  that  something  will  turn  up  to  gain  him 
admission  to  the  show.  He  knows  that  if  the  canvas- 
men  jjive  him  a  ""ood  chance  he  can  crawl  in  under  the 
cloth  and  make  his  way  up  through  the  seats.  He 
has  been  told  that  if  he  is  caught  at  su(;h  a  trick  the 
showmen  will  drag  him  to  the  dressing-tent  and  fill 
his  hair  full  of  powdered  sawdust.  The  canvas-men 
are,  however,  viglilant ;  besides  that,  they  are  lazy 
and  do  not  care  to  move  around,  so  the  small  boy 
must  be  content  to  throw  handsprings  in  the  sawdust- 
sprinkled  lot,  and  keep  on  hoping  until  the  show  is 
out.  In  this  respect  the  minute  ])oy  does  not  betray 
the  same  shrewdness  credited  to  a  Baltimore  girl. 
She  was  on  a  visit  to  her  brother's  ranche  near  Austin, 
Texas,  when  a  small  circus  came  along.  It  is  con- 
sidered the  acme  of  honesty  to  beat  the  circus  in 
that  region  —  in  fact,  paying  is  heartily  deprecated. 
Although  only  a  month  in  the  place,  the  Baltimore 
belle  was  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  cowboy  spirit, 
(r)22) 


UNDER   THE    CANVAS. 


523 


In  as  far  as  "beating"  the  circus  was  concerned,  and 
when  the  show  pitched  its  tents  she  made  up  her  mind 
as   to   what  she   was  going  to   do.      At   night,   when 


*« beating'    the  circus. 

the  show  was    under   headway,  she   calmly  approached 
the  circus   tent    on    stilts,    and    viewed   the   first    half 


524  tINDER   THE   CANVAS. 

of  the  performance  through  the  opening  between  the 
canvas  and  the  roof.  One  of  the  fiujhters  of  the  show 
detecting  somctliing  wrong,  crept  around  with  a  club 
to  ''smash"  the  intruder,  but  received  a  kick  in  the 
eye  from  the  fair  stilt  performer,  and  was  so  taken 
aback  that  the  cowboys  had  time  to  rally  to  her  sup- 
port and  raid  the  show  while  she  at  a  safe  distance 
applauded  the  conquering  herders.  The  troupe  left 
town  that  night  in  a  sadly  damaged  condition. 

Until  late  years  circuses  generally  gave  a  balloon 
ascension  before  the  afternoon  i)erf()rmance  took 
place,  and  sometimes  a  slack-wire  performance  was 
added.  The  latter  free  exhibition  dropped  out  of  sight 
a  short  time  ago,  and  since  187G  there  have  been  few 
circus  balloon  ascensions  ;  they  have  been  abandoned 
on  account  of  the  danger  and  frequency  of  acci- 
dents. Everybody  remembers  the  fate  of  Donaldson 
and  Greenwood,  the  former  an  teronaut  in  the  employ 
of  Bamiim  at  the  time,  the  latter,  a  Chicago  newspaper 
reporter.  They  left  Chicago  July  15,  1875,  in  a  tat- 
tered old  balloon.  It  was  a  remarkal)ly  fine  day,  and 
not  the  remotest  shadow  of  danger  fell  across  the  sun- 
shine. The  balloon  was  carried  out  over  the  lake,  dis- 
appeared from  view,  and  the  fate  of  the  missing  men 
was  not  known  until  a  portion  of  the  tattered  balloon 
and  the  body  of  Greenwood,  with  his  note-book  and 
other  articles  that  helped  to  identify  him,  were  found 
on  the  ]\Iichii2;an  shore  of  the  great  lake.  The  balloon 
had  been  wrecked  and  both  men  had  perished  in  the 
waves.  Donaldson's  body  was  never  recovered.  An 
imaginary  sketch  of  this  fatal  tri^)  was  written  by  John 
A.  Wise,  the  jcronaut,  who  himself  perished  in  Lake 
Michigan  while  attemi)ting  to  complete  a  night  ascen- 
sion. He  and  George  Burr  started  from  St.  Louis  at 
dusk,  and   as   the   terial    ship  was   vanishing   into  the 


UNDER  THE   CANVAS. 


525 


clouds  it  was  seen  for  the  last  time.  For  weeks  noth- 
iiiof  was  heard  of  the  missins;  men  or  the  balloon. 
They  were  thought  to  be  lost  in  the  Michigan  prairies. 
At  last  Burr's  body  was  found  on  the  east  shore  of 
Lake  Michiijan.  Wise's  remains  were  never  recov- 
ered. 

A  lady   balloonist    met  with    a    terrible  death    at 


WASHINGTON    H.  DONALDSON. 

Cuantla,  Mexico,  some  time  ago.  A  great  crowd  as- 
sembled to  witness  the  balloon  ascension  of  Senorita 
Catalina  Georgio,  a  beautiful  girl  only  seventeen  years 
old.  There  was  no  car  attached  to  the  balloon,  only 
the  trapeze  on  which  the  girl  performed.     The  balloon 


526 


UNDER   THE    CANVAS. 


shot  up  amid  the  deafening  cheers  of  the  crowd  which 
was  present.     Catalina,  meanwhile,  was  seen  clinging 


CATALFNA    GKORGIO  S    FllKJUTFUL    DEATH. 

to  the  trapeze   ;iii<l  performing  daring  feats  of  agility. 
When  tlid  halloon  was  three-quarters  of  a  mile  high  it 


UNDER   THE    CANVAS.  527 

suddenly  exploded  and  fell  to  the  ground  with  the  un- 
fortunate girl.  Her  dead  body  was  found  horribly 
crushed  and  mangled  beside  the  wrecked  balloon. 
The  remains  were  tenderly  cared  for  by  the  natives. 

A  frightful  balloon  accident  occurred  lately  at  Cour- 
bevoie,  near  Paris.  A  large  crowd  had  assembled  to 
witness  the  novel  and  perilous  ascent  of  a  gymnast 
called  August  Navarre,  who  had  volunteered  to  per- 
form a  number  of  athletic  feats  on  a  trapeze  suspended 
from  a  Montgolfier  balloon  named  the  Vidouvillaise. 
Rejecting  the  advice  of  bystanders,  Navarre  refused 
to  allow  himself  to  be  tied  to  the  trapeze.  There  was 
no  car  attached  to  the  balloon.  At  about  five  o'clock  the 
Vidouvillaise  was  let  loose  from  its  moorings  and  rose 
majestically  in  the  air.  Navarre,  hanging  on  to  the 
trapeze,  appeared  quite  confident,  and  repeatedly  sa- 
luted the  spectators.  When,  however,  the  balloon 
had  reached  a  height  of  nearly  one  thousand  yards 
the  crowd  was  horrified  to  see  him  suddenly  let  go  the 
bar  and  fall.  The  descent  was  watched  in  breathless 
excitement.  At  last  the  body  reached  the  ground, 
striking  with  such  force  that  it  made  a  hole  in  the 
earth  two  feet  deep,  and  rebounded  four  yards.  It 
was  cruslred  and  mano^led  almost  bevond  recoj^nition. 
Meanwhile  the  balloon,  freed  from  its  human  ballast, 
shot  up  with  lightning  speed,  and  soon  disappeared 
from  view.  Late  in  the  evenino;  it  burst  and  fell  at 
Menilmontant,  much  to  the  consternation  of  the  in- 
habitants of  that  busy  Parisian  quarter. 

The  day  after  Donaldson's  fatal  ascension,  Dave  D. 
Thomas,  then  press  agent  for  Barnum,  and  filling  the 
same  place  still,  made  a  successful  ascension.  Mr. 
Thomas  is  familiar  with  ballooning,  and  often  laments 
that  the  days  of  serial  ascensions  as  circus  advertise- 
ments are  past. 


52.S  UNDER  THE    CANVAS. 

While  waiting  for  the  pcrlbnnancc  to  begin  let  us 
drop  into  the  dressing-tent.  It  is  divided  in  the  mid- 
dle by  11  strip  of  canvas  about  seven  feet  wide,  and 
this  half  space  is  again  divided  into  dressing-rooms, 
one  for  the  men,  the  other  for  the  women.  The  large 
space  is  the  green-room  of  the  circus.  It  is  not  only 
that,  but  it  is  the  property-room.  The  performers  are 
preparing  for  the  grand  entree.  Helmets  arc  lying 
around  loose,  and  wardrobes  appear  to  be  in  a  state  of 
great  confusion.  Cheap  velvet  gaily  bespangled  is 
quite  plentiful.  It  looks  best  at  a  distance.  Quanti- 
ties of  white  chalk  are  brought  into  use,  each-man's 
face  being  highly  powdered,  his  eyebrows  blackened, 
etc.^  The  dressing-room  is  small  and  there  is  appar- 
ently much  confusion  while  the  performers  are  donning 
their  respective  costumes.  But  each  knows  what  his 
duty  is,  and  does  it  accordingly,  without  really  inter- 
fering with  anyone  else.  On  the  other  side  is  the 
ladies'  room  ;  into  this  we  are  not  permitted  to  cast 
our  profane  peepers,  but  we  know  from  exterior 
knowledge  that  paint  and  powder,  short  .dresses  and 
flesh  tights  are  rapidly  converting  ordinary  women 
into  equestrienne  angels.  Outside  of  the  dressing- 
rooms  are  the  horses,  ranged  in  regular  order.  At  a 
o-iven  siirnal  the  riders  appear,  mount  and  enter  the 
rin<T.  As  they  are  dashing  about  in  apparent  reckless- 
ness let  us  look  more  clearly  at  them.  They  all  look 
young  and  fresh,  but  there  are  old  men  in  the  party 
who  for  twenty-five  or  thirty  years  have  figured  in  the 
sawdust  ring.  Chalk  hides  their  wrinkles,  dyestuffs 
their  gray  hairs,  and  skull  caps  their  baldness.  Yon- 
der ladv  who  sits  her  steed  gracefully,  and  who  looks 
as  blooming  as  a  rose  on  a  June  morning,  is  not  oidy 
a  mother,  ))ut  a  grandmother.  And  there  is  George 
who    was  engaged  last  winter  to  do    "  nothing,  you 


UNDER   THE    CANVAS.  529 

know."  He  finds  his  duties  embrace  riding,  leaping, 
tumbling,  object-holding,  and  occasionally  in  short 
times  drive  a  team  on  the  road.  There  is  one  rider 
who  was  formerly  a  manager  himself.  He  had  a  big 
fortune  once,  but  a  few  bad  seasons  swamped  it,  and 
he  is  now  glad  to  take  his  place  as  a  performer  on 
a  moderate  salary.  Returning  to  the  dressing-room 
after  the  entree,  we  find  the  clown  engaged  in  putting 
the  finishing  touches  to  his  make-up.  We  must  look 
closely  at  him  to  recognize  him.  He  does  not  seem  to 
be  the  same  fellow  we  met  at  the  breakfast  table,  in 
stylish  clothes  and  a  shirt-front  ornamented  with  a 
California  diamond.  He  has  given  himself  an  im- 
possible moustache  with  charcoal,  and  has  painted 
bright  red  spots  on  his  cheeks.  You  think  him  a  mere 
boy  as  he  springs  into  the  ring,  but  he  has  been  a 
mere  boy  for  many  a  long  year,  and  his  bones  are  get- 
ting stifli'  and  his  joints  ache  in  sjDite  of  his  assumed 
agility.  The  "gags"  that  he  repeats  and  the  songs 
that  make  you  laugh  are  not  funny  to  him,  for  he  has 
repeated  them  in  precisely  the  same  inflection  for  an 
indefinite  number  of  nights.  He  comes  out  to  play 
for  the  principal  act  of  horsemanship.  Meantime  in  the 
dressing-room,  if  it  is  damp  or  chilly,  the  performers 
are  wrapping  themselves  in  blankets  or  moving  about 
to  keep  warm.  When  the  bareback  rider  returns  from 
the  ring  he  usually  disrobes,  takes  a  bath  and  dons  his 
ordinary  attire ;  but  the  less  important  performers 
must  keep  themselves  in  readiness  to  render  any  assis- 
tance which  they  may  be  called  upon  to  perform. 

There  is  but  little  repose  for  the  weary  circus  people 
during  a  season.  Frequently  they  stay  but  one  day  in 
a  place,  and  the  next  town  is  fifteen  or  twenty  miles 
distant.  All  the  properties  must  be  packed  up,  the 
helmets  and  cheap  velvet,  the  tights  and  the   tunics 


530  UNDER    THE    CANVAS. 

imi.st  be  slowed  iiway  and  tlie  journey  nuide  1)y  nij^lit. 
The  following  day  brings  a  recurrence  of  the  dangers 
and  toil  of  circus  life. 

A  clown  Avho  was  importuned  by  some  young  ladies 
of  Mill  City,  Iowa,  as  they  passed  the  dressing-tent,  to 
let  them  in,  said  he'd  do  it  for  a  kiss  from  each.  There 
were  four  in  the  party  and  they  held  a  brief  consulta- 
tion when  they  came  back  and  wanted  to  know  if  one 
kiss  wouldn't  do. 

"  Yes,  one  each,"  said  Mr.  Merry  man,  who  had  his 
paint  on  and  looked  anything  but  pretty. 

Again  they  consulted,  and  at  last  agreed.  They 
were  respectable  young  ladies  and  were  slow  to  do 
anythinir  that  miirht  compromise  tliem,  still  thev  kissed 
the  clown,  who  lifted  a  flap  of  the  tent  and  passed  in 
each  as  she  paid  the  osculatory  fee.  The  kisses  did 
his  old  heart  good,  and  when  he  went  into  the  ring  so 
fresh  and  htippy  did  he  feel  that  he  actually  got  olT  a 
new  and  good  joke,  which  is  an  extraordinary  thing  for 
a  clown.  The  clown  is  pretty  much  the  whole  show  to 
the  little  folks,  and  there  are  many  grown  peojjle  who 
cherish  fondly  the  childish  admiration  they  had  had  for 
the  retailer  of  old  jokes  and  singer  of  i)oor  comic  songs. 
He  talks  and  jumi)s  around  as  lightly  as  if  he  were  a 
young  man  ;  but  often  if  the  reader  could  be  aroimd 
when  the  chalk  and  the  streaks  of  black  and  rod  have 
been  washed  off  he  would  see  that  the  light-hearted 
lau"-h-provoker  is  an  old  man  wriidvled  and  gray,  and 
that  he  is  to  be  pardoned  for  not  being  able  to  say 
anything  funny  that  would  be  new  at  his  time  of  life. 
I  like  everything  about  a  flown,  his  clothes,  his  comi- 
cal hat,  his  ohl  jokes,  liis  poor  voice  and  his  worse 
sonics.  He  tries  to  amuse  other  people's  children,  and 
therefore  I  am  glad  when  I  hear  he  has  children  of  his 


UNDER   THE    CANVAS.  531 

own,  as  the  following  touching  story  told  in  verso  has 
something  to  say  about :  — 

THE   CLOWN'S   BABY. 

It  was  out  on  the  western  frontier  — 

The  miner's,  rugged  and  brown, 
Were  gathered  around  the  posters ; 

The  circus  had  come  to  town  1 
•    Tlie  great  tent  shone  in  the  darlvuess, 

LilvC  a  wonderful  palace  of  light, 
And  rough  men  crowded  the  entrance  — 

Shows  didn't  come  every  night. 

Not  a  woman's  face  among  them! 

Many  a  face  that  was  bad, 
And  some  that  were  only  vacant, 

And  some  that  were  very  sad ; 
And  behind  the  canvas  curtain, 

In  a  corner  ot  the  place,        "~ 
The  clown  with  chalk  and  vermilion, 

Was  "  making  up  "  his  face. 

A  weary-looking  woman. 

With  a  smile  that  still  was  sweet, 
Sewed  on  a  little  garment. 

With  a  candle  at  her  feet. 
Pantaloons  stood  ready  and  waiting; 

It  was  the  time  for  the  going  on. 
But  the  clown  in  vain  searched  wildly- 

The  "  property  baby  "  was  gone ! 

He  murmured,  impatiently  hunting, 

"It's  strange  that  I  cannot  find  — 
There!  I've  looked  in  every  corner; 

It  must  have  been  left  behind." 
The  miners  were  stamping  and  shouting  — 

They  were  not  patient  men ; 
The  clown  bent  over  the  cradle  — 
"I  must  take  you,  little  Ben!  " 

The  mother  started  and  s*hivered. 

But  trouble  and  want  were  near; 
She  lifted  her  baby  gently, 

"You'll  be  very  cai-eful,  dear?  " 


532  UNDER   THE   CANVAS. 

"  Careful !     You  foolish  darling  —  " 

How  tenderly  it  was  said! 
What  a  smile  shone  through  the  chalk  and  paint - 

"  I  love  each  hair  of  his  head!  " 

The  noise  rose  into  an  uproar, 

Misrule  for  the  time  was  Ivins; 
The  clown,  with  a  foolish  chuckle, 

Bolted  into  the  ring. 
But  as  with  a  squeak  and  a  flourish, 

The  liddles  closed  their  tune, 
"You  hold  him  as  if  he  was  made  of  glass!  " 

Said  the  clown  to  Pantaloon. 

The  jovial  follow  nodded : 

"  I've  a  couple  myself,"  he  said; 
"  I  know  how  to  handle  'em,  bless  you  I 

Old  fellow,  go  ahead  I  " 
The  fun  grew  fast  and  furious, 

And  not  one  of  all  the  crowd 
Had  guessed  the  baby  was  alive, 

When  he  suddenly  laughed  aloud. 

Oh,  that  baby-laugh!     It  was  echoed 

From  the  benches  with  a  ring. 
And  the  roughest  customer  there  sprung  up 

With'"  Boys,  it's  a  real  thing!  " 
The  ring  was  jammed  in  a  minute, 

Not  a  man  that  did  not  strive 
For  "A  shot  at  holding  the  baby  —  " 

The  baby  that  was  "  alive!  " 

He  was  thronged  by  kneeling  suitors 

In  the  midst  of  the  dusty  ring. 
And  he  held  his  court  right  royally  — 

The  lair  little  baby-king  — 
Till  one  of  the  shouting  courtiers, 

A  man  with  a  bold,  hard  face, 
The  talk  of  miles  of  the  country, 

And  the  terror  of  the  place, 

liaised  the  little  king  on  his  sliouldcr, 
And  chuckled,  "  Look  at  that!  " 

As  the  baby  fingers  clutched  his  hair. 
Then  "  Boys,  hand  round  that  hat!  " 

There  never  was  such  a  hat-full 


UNDER  THE   CANVAS.  533 

Of  silver,  and  gold,  and  notes ; 
People  are  not  always  penniless 
Because  they  don't  wear  coats. 

And  then,  "Three  cheers  for  the  baby!  " 

I  tell  you  those  cheers  were  meant; 
And  the  way  in  which  they  were  given 

Was  enough  to  raise  the  tent. 
And  there  was  a  sudden  silence, 

And  a  gruff  old  miner  said : 
«'  Come  boys,  enough  of  this  rumpus! 

It's  time  it  was  put  to  bed." 

So  looking  a  little  sheepish, 

But  with  faces  strangely  bright,  - 
The  audience,  somewhat  lingeringly, 

Flocked  out  into  the  night. 
And  the  bold-fdced  leader  chuckled, 

"  He  wasn't  a  bit  afraid ! 
He's  as  game  as  he  is  good-looking  — 

Boys,  that  was  a  show  that  paid !  " 

The  public  at  large  has  but  a  very  vague  idea  of  how 
a  circus  is  run,  and  the  people,  besides  the  managers 
and  regular  employees,  who  make  a  living  by  it.  ^hen 
the  tenting  season  is  about  to  open,  a  class  of  people, 
who  in  the  winter  hang  about  the  saloons,  variety 
theatres  and  gambling  hells  of  the  large  cities,  start 
for  the  circuses  to  bid  for  what  are  known  as  the 
"  privileges,"  which  are,  as  a  rule,  understood  to  em- 
brace not  only  the  candy  and  lemonade-stands  and  the 
side-shows,  but  all  sorts  of  gamblmg  devices  by  which 
the  unsuspecting  countryman  is  fleeced  out  of  his  earn- 
ings, or  borrowings,  as  the  case  may  be.  Monte  men, 
thimble-riggers,  sweat-cloth  dealers,  and  all  classes  of 
gamblers  and  thieves  who  have  not  yet  risen  to  the 
dignity  of  '<^  working"  the  watering-places  and  sum- 
mer resorts,  look  upon  the  route  of  a  circus  as  their 
legitimate  field  of  operation.  The  circus  proprietor 
who  rents  the  lot  upon  which  his  tent  or  tents  are 


534  UNHER   THE    CANVAS. 

pitched  has  the  right  to  sul)lct  such  portions  of  the 
ground  as  he  does  not  use,  for  such  i)uiposes  as  he 
deems  proper,  and  which  Avill  not  make  him  personally 
amenable  to  the  laws  for  whatever  crimes  m:iy  be  com- 
mitted there.  It  has  been  shown  that  in  manv  cases 
the  managers  not  only  sell  to  gamblers  the  privilege  of 
locating  on  the  ground  and  robbing  the  patrons  of  the 
circus,  ])ut  also  receive  a  share  of  the  ill-gotten  wealth. 
"There  are,"  said  Mr.  Coup,  the  circus  owner,  to 
an  interviewer,  "  lots  of  shows  with  bis:  bank  accounts 
who  have  made  their  money  by  actually  robbing  their 
patrons.  They  used  to  swindle  on  the  seats,  but  th:it 
is  done  away  with  now  entirely,  or  nearly  so.  Of 
course,  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  mention  mimes,  but  I 
c(nild  astonish  you  by  desiijnating  shows  the  manairers 
of  which  have  made  the  greater  portion  of  their  money 
in  this  way.  But  a  great  trick  which  is  being  practised 
is  this  :  A  man  is  sent  ahead  of  the  show  who  is  not 
known  to  have  any  connection  whatever  with  it.  In 
fact,  he  denies  that  he  has  anything  to  do  with  it,  and 
yet  he  is  really  employed  by  the  managers.  This  man 
canvasses  the  town  and  finds  some  man  who  has  a  bi<x 
bank  account  and  who  is  G:ullible  enou<::h  to  confide  in 
strangers.  The  agent  makes  his  acquaintance,  gets 
into  his  confidence,  and  then  with  a  great  show  of 
secrecy  informs  him  iiow  he  can  make  a  pile  of  money 
when  the  circus  comes  along.  'J'lie  innocent  citizen 
bites  at  the  bait  and  is  steered  afjainst  a  i^amblinj; 
scheme  either  inside  or  outside  of  the  tent,  and  loses 
ol"len  large  sums  of  money.  Pei-Jiaps  lus  is  a  man 
whose  social  standing  prevents  him  from  making  his 
loss  known,  or,  more  frecjuently,  hci'ails  to  suspect  the 
agent,  who  l)lust('rs  around  and  declares  that  he,  too, 
has  lost  money  on  the  scheme.  And  thus  the  show 
goes  from  town  to  town,  making  almost  as  much  by 


UNDER   THE    CANVAS.  535 

Stealing  from  its  patrons  as  it  does  at  the  ticket  wagon. 
There  are  shows  which  make  from  $30,000  to  $40,000 
a  season  in  this  way  and  that  goes  a  good  way  toward 
paying  for  their  printing,  and  is  quite  an  item.  I  have 
made  war  on  these  fellows  for  years  and  am  determined 
to  keep  it  up.  If  I  cannot  run  a  show  without  having 
a  lot  of  gambling  schemes  attached  to  it,  why  then  I'll 
stop  running  a  show.  I  abolished  everything  of  the 
kind  last  season,  even  down  to  the  selling  of  lemonade 
in  the  seats.  I  allow  lemonade  to  be  sold  now,  but 
the  men  are  watched  carefully  and  the  first  one  caught 
swindling  my  patrons,  off  goes  his  head." 

"  Do  you  not  find  it  difficult  to  keep  gamblers  and 
confidence  men  away  from  your  show?  " 

"I  did  at  first,  but  it  is  now  known  amons;  them 
that  I  will  not  allow  it  and  they  keep  away.  My  life 
has  been  threatened  several  times  just  on  account  of 
this,  but  I  still  live  and  still  propose  to  keep  up  the 
fight.  I  have  been  offered  as  high  as  $1,000  a  week 
for  the  privilege  to  rob  my  patrons  by  camp-followers, 
so  you  can  see  that  the  privilege  is  worth  something. 
In  Georgia  a  gang  threatened  publicly  to  kill  vag  on 
sight  for  refusing  to  let  them  hang  around  my  tents, 
but  some  of  my  men  went  for  them  and  cleaned  them 
out  very  effectually.  The  side-show  privileges  are  sold 
only  on  condition  that  no  gambling  shall  be  carried  on 
in  the  tents  and  that  the  patrons  shall  not  be  swindled 
in  any  way.  The  side-shows  can  be  made  to  pay  with- 
out robbery.  Last  season  the  side-shows  that  traveled 
with  my  show,  made  $75,000,  which  was  more  than  I 
made." 


CHAPTER    XL. 


ACROBATICS    AND    EQUESTRIANISM. 

Nearly  every  man  connected  with  the  rinij  work  of  a 
circus  is  an  acrobat  of  one  kind  or  other.  His  al)ility 
may  be  limited  to  turninj?  a  sin^jle  somersault,  still  he 
will  be  brought  into  the  arena  with  the  rest  of  the 
company  and  opportunity  will  be  atlbrded  him  to  do 
his  best.  It  is  not  expected,  however,  to  recruit  the 
ranks  from  such  a  class.  Children  must  be  trained  to 
the  i)rofession,  and  a  long  and  arduous  training  it 
requires.  If  their  parents  are  i)rofessionals  their 
studies  will  be  all  the  more  severe,  and  cuffs  and  blows 
will  be  the  only  encouragement  given  their  struggling 
children.  Fathers  have  been  known  to  beat  their  sons, 
to  kick  them  in  the  presence  of  the  audience,  and  to 
add  other  and  severer  punishment  when  tlic  young 
acrobat  reaches  home.  The  Society  for  the  Prevention 
of  Cruelty  to  Children  could  find  plenty  to  do  in  pre- 
venting brutal  parents  from  abusing  their  little  folks, 
if  not  in  putting  an  end  entirely  to  the  swift  and  rough 
training  that  boys  are  put  through  in  order  that  they 
may  be  hired  out  or  leased  to  circus  managers.  In 
New  Yolk  I  understand  that  l)roken-down  ring  })er- 
formers  have  schools  in  which  boys  are  taught  every 
branch  of  the  circus  business,  just  as  there  are  riding 
schools  where  young  men  and  young  women  may  learn 
pad-riding  and  go  even  as  far  as  riding  bareback.  The 
schools  for  acrobats  are  usually  conducted  by  cruel, 
heartless   fellows  who  urge  the  pupils  to   their   tasks 

(536) 


ACROBATICS   AND  EQUESTRIANISM. 


537 


with  a  club,  and  while  forgetting  to   say  a  kind  word 
when  the  pupil  has  done  well,  will  never  fail  to  say  a 


> 

H 
> 

a 

o 


Iiarsh  one  when  any  mistake  has  been  made.     These 
places  are  filled  up  with  all  the  appliances  of  a  gym- 


538  ACROBATICS   AND   EQUESTIUANISM. 

nusiiiiu  —  burs,  r()i)o.s,  weights,  trapezes,  tight-rope, 
etc.  Circus  manairers  in  want  of  talent  for  small  shows 
going  South  or  West  apply  here  and  take  their  choice 
of  the  boys.  A  bargain  is  quickly  made  and  the  child, 
for  many  of  them  are  still  mere  children,  goes  forth 
to  join  the  throng  engaged  from  April  until  October  in 
amusing  the  public  in  the  sawdust  arena. 

When  the  child  gets  into  the  circus  ring  there  need 
be  hope  of  no  further  sympathy.  Its  task  is  set  and 
must  be  done  at  all  hazards.  A  failure  one  time  to 
accomplish  a  feat  must  be  followed  by  another  and 
another  attempt  until  the  feat  is  at  last  satisfactorily 
presented.  Olive  Logan  was  at  a  circus  performance 
at  Cincinnati  at  which  she  witnessed  an  extraordinary 
instance  of  cruelty  on  the  part  of  a  circus  proprietor  to 
a  child  rider.  The  circus  was  owned  and  managed  by 
a  certain  clown.  The  clown-proi)rietor.  Miss  Logan 
goes  on  to  say,  introduced  a  little  girl  to  the  audience, 
saying  that  she  would  exhibit  her  skill  in  riding.  He 
stated  that  the  horse  was  somewhat  unused  to  the  ring 
and  if  it  should  happen  that  the  rider  fell,  no  one  need 
entertain  any  ap[)rehension  of  serious  accident,  as  the 
arena  was  soft  and  injury  would  be  impossible.  It  was 
surely  an  unhappy  introduction  for  the  child,  and  cal- 
culated to  fill  her  with  fear  and  doubt.  The  child 
whirled  rapidly  round  the  ring  two  or  three  times,  using 
neither  rein  nor  binding  strap.  She  stood  on  one 
foot,  then  chanjjfcd  to  the  other.  After  this  she  was 
called  upon  to  jump  the  stretchers.  Had  her  horse 
been  well  trained,  the  feat  would  have  been  no  very 
dilliiull  one.  But  she  became  entangled  in  the  cloth 
and  fell  to  the  ground,  under  the  horse's  feet.  She 
was  placed  again  on  the  l>a(k  of  the  horse  and  com- 
pelled once  more  to  try  the  feat.     Her  fall  had  not 

given  her  new  coniidcnce  and  she   fell  a   second  time, 
o 


ACROBATICS   AND    EQUESTRIANISM. 


539 


Again 


Evidently  much  against  her  inclination  and  in  spite  of 
her  trembling  and  her  tears,  nature's  protest  against 
barbarity,  she  was  tossed  again  to  her  place.  But  her 
nerve  had  gone.  She  was  utterly  demoralized.  Judg- 
ment of  distance,  and  faith  in  herself  were  lost, 
she  attempted  to  execute 
the  leap.  Again  she  fell  to 
the  ground,  striking  heav- 
ily upon  her  head.  She 
rolled  directly  under  the 
horse's  feet  and  only  by 
a  sheer  chance  escaped  a 
terrible  death.  The  au- 
dience, —  more  merciful 
than  those  within  the  ring, 
by  this  time  had  been 
thoroughly  aroused  and  in- 
dignant. Cries  and  shouts 
were  heard  from  all  quar- 
ters :  "  Shame  !  shame  !  " 
'♦That'll  do!"  "  Take 
her  out !  take  her  out !  " 
came  up  from  every  side. 
It  would  not  answer  to 
disregard  such  commands, 
and  with  a  smile  the  rino; 
master  went  to  the  child, 
raised  her  from  the   dust  trapeze. 

where  she  lay,  and  led  her,  crying  and  sobbing,  to  the 
dressing-tent. 

The  men  and  women  who  perform  at  dizzy  heights 
on  the  trapeze  and  flying  rings  frequently  meet  with 
terrible  accidents.  Still  the  difiiculty  of  these  feats  is 
being  constantly  increased,  and  performers,  not  satis- 
fied with  having  their  eyes  open  during  their  perilous 


540  ACROliATICS   AND    EQUESTRIANISM. 

flight  from  one  tnipcze  to  another,  envelope  their  heads 
in  sacks,  and  althou<ih  not  wholly  blindinu:  themselves, 
very  materially  interfere  with  the  vision,  which  in  all 
such  instances  should  not  be  obstructed.  A  typical 
accident  of  the  trapeze  kind  happened  at  a  performance 
of  old  John  liobinson's  circus  at  South  Pueblo,  Col- 
orado, on  June  12,  1882.  While  the  Alfredo  Family 
were  performing  on  the  trapeze,  the  stake  which  sup- 
ports the  rope  pulled  out  of  the  ground,  which  had 
been  softened  by  the  afternoon  storm,  and  let  the  per- 
formers—  three  in  number,  William,  Lewis,  and  his 
wife,  Emma  Alfredo  —  suddenly  to  the  ground.  The 
act  is  a  sort  of  double  bicycle  and  trapeze  performance. 
William  propels  a  bicycle  back  and  forth  on  a  lino 
stretched  from  pole  to  pole,  and  Lewis  and  Emma 
perform  on  two  trapeze-bars  suspended  from  the  bi- 
cyle.  AVhen  the  stake  pulled  up  last  night  the  rope 
collapsed  just  at  the  moment  th;it  Lewis  was  hanging 
by  his  feet  from  the  lower  bar  and  Emma  from  the 
upper,  both  straight  down,  with  arms  folded.  Emma 
caught  herself  on  the  lower  bar  and  the  side  ropes, 
but  her  husband  fell  straight  to  the  ground,  alighting 
on  the  back  of  his  head,  the  fall  being  twelve  or  four- 
teen feet.  He  Avas  at  once  removed  to  his  dressing- 
room,  and  tlie  physicians  who  were  summoned  said 
that  his  spine  was  iujurod.  Half  an  hour  later  he  was 
removed  to  a  hotel,  where  he  died  at  four  r.  M., 
June  13th. 

A  gymnast  who  fell  from  a  trapeze  in  New  Orleans 
gave  the  following  account  of  his  sensations:  *'Amid 
the  sea  of  faces  before  me  I  looked  for  a  familiar  one, 
but  in  vain,  and,  turning,  I  stepped  back  to  the  rope 
by  which  we  ascended  to  the  trapeze,  and  going  up  hand 
over  hand  was  soon  seated  in  my  swinging  perch.  As 
I  looked   down  I  caught   sight  of  a  fac(>  in   one  of  the 


ACROBATICS    AND    EQUESTRIANISM.  541 

boxes,  that  at  once  attracted  my  attention.  It  Avas 
that  of  a  beantiful  girl,  with  sweet  bhie  eyes,  and 
golden  hair  falling  unconfined  over  her  shoulders  in 
heavy,  waving  masses.  Her  beautiful  eyes,  turned 
toward  me,  expressed  only  terror  at  the  seeming  dan- 
ger of  the  performer,  and  for  the  moment  I  longed  to 
assure  her  of  my  perfect  safety,  but  my  brother  was 
by  my  side  and  we  l)egan  our  performance.  In  the 
pauses  for  breath  I  could  see  that  sweet  face,  now  pale 
as  death,  and  the  blue  eyes  staring  wide  open  with 
fear,  and  I  dreaded  the  effect  of  our  finish,  which  — 
being  the  drop  act  —  gives  the  uninitiated  the  impres- 
sion that  both  performers  are  about  to  be  dashed  head- 
long to  the  stage.  Having  completed  the  double 
performance  I  ascended  to  the  upper  bar,  and,  casting 
off  the  connect,  we  began  our  combination  feats. 
While  hanging  by  my  feet  in  the  upper  trapeze,  my 
brother  being  suspended  from  my  hands  (the  lower 
bar  being  drawn  back  by  a  super),  I  felt  a  slight 
shock,  and  the  rope  began  slowly  to  slip  i3ast  my  foot. 
My  heart  gave  a  grand  jump,  and  then  seemed  to  stop, 
as  I  realized  our  awful  situation.  The  lashintr  which 
held  the  bar  had  parted,  the  rope  was  gliding  round 
the  bar,  and  in  another  moment  we  should  be  lying 
senseless  on  the  stage.  I  shouted  '  under '  to  the  ter- 
rified '  super,'  who  instantly  swung  the  bar  back  to  its 
place,  and  I  dropped  my  brother  on  it  as  the  last 
strand  snapped  and  I  plunged  downward.  I  saw  the 
lower  bar  darting  toward  me  and  I  made  a  desperate 
grasp  at  it,  for  it  was  my  last  chance.  I  missed  it ! 
Down  through  the  air  I  fell,  striking  heavily  on  the 
stage.  The  blow  rendered  me  senseless  and  my  col- 
lar bone  was  broken.  I  was  hurried  behind  the  scenes, 
and  soon  came  to  my  senses.  My  first  thought  was 
that  I  must  go  back  and  go  through  my  performance 


542 


ACROBATICS    AND    EQUESTRIANISM. 


at  once,  and  I  actually  made  a  dash  for  the  stage  — 
but  I  was  restrained,  and  it  was  many  weeks  ])eforo  I 
was  able  to  perform  again." 

The  circus-goers  of  a  decade  ago  were  accustomed 
to  tight-rope  and  slack-wire  performances  in  the  ring, 
when  old  men  and  young  women,  emulative  of  the  eel-. 


jroME.  LA8ALLE. 

cbrated  Blondiii,  wont  through  some  wonderful  evolu- 
tions in  mid-air.  Now  the  tight-rope  and  loose  wire 
have  both  almost  entirely  disappeared  from  the  ring, 
and  only  in  the  small  shows  are  they  given  a  place  in 
the  programme.  Still  there  are  many  excellent  per- 
formers in  this  line  who  find  cm[)loyment  on  the  variety 
stage  among  specialty  people.  The  best  of  these  is 
Zanfretti,  the  pantomime    clown,  avIio    though    an    old 


ACROBATICS    AND   EQUESTRIANISM.  543 

man  displays  wonderful  agility  when  with  balance-pole 
in  hand  he  finds  himself  at  the  half-way  point  on  his 
rope.  Ladies  who  have  taken  to  the  hempen  path 
have  attained  prominence  as  rope-walkers.  One  of 
the  most  beautiful  and  at  the  same  time  dangerous,  of 
the  performances  that  the  small  shows  offer  to  their 
audiences  is  that  of  Madame  Lasalle,  who  places  her 
little  eight-year-old  daughter  in  a  wheelbarrow  filled 
with  flowers,  and  on  a  rope  thirty  feet  above  the 
ground  without  net  beneath  and  with  nothing  but 
hard  ground  to  receive  both  in  case  of  a  fall,  trundles 
the  barrow  over  a  long  rope  while  the  people  below 
look  up  in  breathless  fear  lest  the  barrow  tip  and 
a  dreadful  accident  result  before  the  feat  is  accom- 
plished. Tight-rope  walking,  however,  is  not  nearly 
so  difficult  as  it  appears  to  be.  The  performer  needs 
steady  nerves,  a  cool  eye,  firm  limbs  and  a  balance- 
pole,  the  last-named  article  being  the  most  essen- 
tial. Training  is  required,  of  course,  but  it  is  not  of 
the  rigorous  and  protracted  kind  that  other  feats  de- 
mand. 

The  training  of  riders  is  not  so  difficult  or  attended 
with  such  dangers,  although  it  is  perilous  enough.  If 
a  circus-rider  has  a  son  or  daughter  he  wishes  to  bring: 
up  for  the  ring  he  will  begin  by  carrying  the  child,  as 
soon  as  it  is  strong  enough,  upon  the  horse  with  him, 
thus  accustoming  it  to  standing  upon  the  animal  in 
motion  ;  but  if  a  boy  or  girl  is  taken  up  at  an  age 
when  it  is  no  longer  easy  to  carry  him  around  the  ring 
on  the  back  of  a  horse,  he  is  put  in  training  with  what 
the  circus  people  call  "  the  mechanic."  This  is  a  beam 
extending  out  from  a  pivoted  centre-pole  and  having  a 
rope  hanging  down  at  the  edge  of  the  ring  with  a  strap 
at  the  end  which  is  ftistened  around  the  pupil's  waist. 
The  rope  is  long  enough  to  allow  the  pupil  to   stand 


544  ACK015ATICS    AM)    KQUESTRIANISM. 

upon  the  back  of  an  animal,  and  by  means  of  its  sup- 
port he  is  kept  in  an  upright  position  until  he  gets 
accustomed  to  the  motion  of  a  liorse,  and  is  prevented 
from  falling  should  he  miss  his  footinc;.  He  bcirins 
with  a  pad  on  the  back  of  a  gentle  animal,  and  keeps 
on  with  "the  mechanic"  until  he  is  able  to  stand 
alone  on  the  horse,  from  which  time  on  the  pad  is  dis- 
carded and  the  pupil  goes  it  bareback.  Ed.  Showles, 
a  good  rider  and  prominent  in  his  line,  told  me  that  it 
takes  about  six  months  to  break  a  boy  in  so  that  he 
will  be  able  to  ride  fairly,  but  that  a  girl  may  bo  taught 
in  three  months. 

This  trainini?  goes  on  during  the  winter  months 
■while  the  circus  is  in  quarters.  A  small  ring  is  always 
a  department  of  the  winter  quarters,  and  in  lliis  the 
trained  animals  are  kept  in  practice  and  new  ones  are 
broken  in,  the  whip  being  freely  used  upon  all  in  giv- 
ing them  their  lessons.  A  horse  that  is  intended  for 
the  educated  class  after  having  acquired  the  ordinary 
manoeuvres,  for  instance,  must  learn  to  get  up  on  his 
hind  legs  and  paw  the  air  with  the  fore  legs,  as  wo  see 
them  in  pictures  of  the  Ukraine  stallions,  etc.  To  do 
this  the  animal  must  have  his  haunches  strengthened. 
Hv  whi[)ping  the  fore  legs  ho  is  made  gradually  to  rise 
on  the  hind  ones.  The  horse  finds  it  difficult  at  first, 
but  judicious  whii)ping  gets  him  up  in  the  air  at  last 
and  the  sight  of  the  threatening  whip  keeps  him  there 
as  long  as  there  is  strength  in  his  haunches  to  keep 
him  up. 

"  The  work  of  the  leading  c(juestrienne  is  one  of  the 
most  laborious  in  tin;  whole  range  of  tin;  circus  pro- 
fession. It  requires  physical  courage  of  the  highest 
order,  combined  with  great  ])ower  of  endurance  and  a 
capacity  for  adopting  oneself  to  a  constant  change  of 
scene  and  .•-urniuntiing.      People  who  witness  only  the 


ANNIE    LIVINGSTONE, 


ACROBATICS   AND   EQUESTRIANISM.  545 

brilliant  performances  in  the  ring  in  an  atmosphere 
laden  with  light  and  mnsic,  little  dream  of  the  weari- 
some toil  and  drndgery  which  precede  them." 

The  speaker  was  Miss  Lilly  Deacon,  a  fair-haired 
English  lady,  with  the  form  of  a  Juno,  who  arrived  in 
this  country  from  London  sometime  ago  to  fill  an  en- 
engagement  as  leading  equestrienne  in  Forepaugh's 
circus.  As  she  appeared  in  the  parlor  in  an  interview 
with  a  Philadelphia  reporter,  she  might  naturally  have 
been  taken  for  the  preceptress  of  some  fashionable 
English  boarding-school,  or  the  daughter  of  some 
stiff  old  country  squire  of  Kent  or  Sussex  —  or  anybodj^ 
in  fact,  rather  than  the  daring  rider  whose  perform- 
ances have  bewildered  and  startled  the  circus-going 
multitude  of  London,  Paris,  and  Berlin.  In  feature 
and  manner  her  appearance  was  that  of  the  English 
gentlewoman,  while  her  conversation  throughout  re- 
vealed a  delicacy  of  thought  and  expression  common 
only  to  the  well-bred  lady. 

*'  The  training  necessary  to  success  in  equestrian 
performances,"  continued  Miss  Deacon,  "  is  monoto- 
nous in  the  extreme  and  in  some  parts  very  dangerous. 
None  but  those  in  rugged  health  ever  withstand  it,  and 
no  one  without  a  perfect  physical  organization  should 
undertake  it.  The  ordinary  exercises  of  the  riding- 
school  are  trifles  as  compared  with  the  tasks  imposed 
in  professional  training.  When  a  woman  has  obtained 
all  the  knowledge  to  be  acquired  in  a  riding-school, 
she  has  only  got  the  rudiments  of  real  equestrian  art. 
She  must  then  enter  the  circus  ring  and  familiarize 
herself  with  the  duties  required  of  her  there.  She 
must  be  prepared  to  endure  falls  and  bruises  without 
number,  together  with  frequent  scoldings  and  correc- 
tions from  the  instructors.  No  woman,  unless  she  be 
possessed  of  extraordinary  natural  skill,  ought  to  ap- 


51(5 


ACROBATICS    AND    EQUESTRIANISM. 


pear  in  the  ring  l)oforo  an  aiulicnce  until  she  has  grad- 
uated from  a  riduig-school,  and  then  practised  in  tho 


rin"-  four  or  five  hours  every  day  for  at  least  six  months. 
Those  six  months  will  1)0  a  period  of  torture  and  weari- 
ness to  her,  ])ut  she  must  undergo  them  or  run  the  risk  of 


ACROBATICS    AND    EQUESTRIANISM.  547 

almost   certain  failure  and  humiliation  upon  her  first 
appearance  in  public. 

"  The  best  equestrian  instructor  in  Europe  —  in  fact 
the  only  one  of  established  reputation  —  is  M.  Sal- 
monsky  of  Berlin.  He  is  one  of  the  grandest  horse- 
men in  the  world,  and  in  his  great  circus  includes  some 
of  the  finest  stock  on  the  continent.  He  saw  me  first 
in  London,  my  native  place,  many  years  ago  when  1 
was  performing  with  my  brothers  and  sisters  in  Hen- 
ley's Eegent  Street  circus,  and  oifered  to  take  me  with 
him  to  Berlin  and  complete  my  training.  I  accepted,- 
and  entered  his  circus  at  the  German  capital,  where  I 
received  the  most  careful  instruction  he  could  give 
me. 

"  M.  Salmonsky  would  send  me  into  the  ring  with 
his  most  spirited  horses  every  day  and  stand  by  to 
direct  my  exercises.  Sometimes  I  thought  I  should 
never  survive  the  terrible  discipline,  and  often  thought 
I  should  go  back  to  London  and  content  myself  with  be- 
ing a  second-rate  rider,  but  the  kindness  of  my  good  old 
instructor  softened  the  innumerable  bumps  and  bruises 
I  received,  and  I  at  last  triumphed.  Emperor  William 
and  the  crown  i^rince  attended  the  circus  the  night  I 
made  my  debut,  and  complimented  me  formally  and 
personally  from  their  box. 

"  M.  Salmonsky's  course  of  training  is  very  rigid, 
and  that  accounts  for  its  thoroughness.  The  pupil 
must  surrender  wholly  to  the  instructor  and  become 
very  much  as  a  ball  of  wax  in  his  hands.  At  the  out- 
set, however,  the  scholar  must  obtain  complete  mas- 
tery of  her  horses.  Fear  is  a  quality  utterly  hostile 
to  successful  equestrianism,  and  unless  the  pupil  can 
banish  it  at  the  start,  she  had  better  give  up  her  am- 
bition and  abandon  the  profession.      She  will   never 


548  ACUOBATICS    AND   EQUESTRIANISM. 

succeed  so  lonjj;  us  she  is  afraid  either  of  herself  or  her 
horses. 

"l)iit,  as  I  said  l)efore,  no  one  iinac(|uaintcd  with 
the  dangerous  ])rcparatory  instruction  of  an  eques- 
trienne has  any  proper  estimate  of  tlie  toil  and  weari- 
ness which  her  performances  represent.  One  never 
knows  the  boundless  capacity  of  the  human  frame  for 
pains  and  aches  until  one  has  gone  into  training  for 
circus-riding.  What,  with  unruly  horses,  uncomfort- 
ahlc  saddles,  and  the  violent  exercise  involved,  five  or 
six  hours  of  practice  every  day  for  months  is  certain 
to  do  one"  of  two  things  —  it  either  kills  the  pupil  or 
l)rings  her  up  to  the  perfection  of  physical  womanhood. 
The  hours  for  practice  adopted  by  M.  Salmonsky  were 
in  the  forenoon — generally  from  eight  to  twelve, 
with,  perhaps,  another  hour  or  two  in  the  evening. 
To  withstand  this  course  one  must  dress  loosely  and 
l)ecome  a  devotee  to  plain  living  and  the  laws  of 
hygiene.  Any  neglect  of  those  principles,  or  any  great 
loss  of  sleep  usually  results  in  broken  health  and  pro- 
fessional failure. 

"A  <neat  many  persons  w^ho  have  the  idea  that  the 
life  ()[  a  circus  star  is  a  happy  one — that  it  is  a  round 
of  gorgeous  tulle,  tinsel,  and  ring-master  -  embel- 
lished splendor  —  would  be  sadly  shocked  if  they 
could  get  a  glimpse  of  the  real  thing.  These  people 
ai-e  mistaken.  It  is  really  a  life  of  hard  work  at  pretty 
much  all  hours  of  the  day.  When  the  splendid  Mile. 
Peerless  isn't  speeding  around  the  ring,  lashing  her 
spirited  b:ire-l)a(k  horse  to  fury,  amid  the  plaudits 
of  admiring  thousands,  she  is  mending  her  tights, 
stitching  tinsel  on  her  costume,  annointing  her  bruises 
with  balsam,  or  practising.  The  practice  ol'  tiie  circus 
rider  is  like  the  rehearsal  of  the  actor,  only  more  so, 
for  while  the  actor  has  only  to  rehearse  until  his  first 


ACROBATICS   AND   EQUESTRIANISM.  549 

performance  and  then  can  go  on  playing  a  part  without 
further  trouble,  the  rider  must  put  in  an  hour  or  two 
every  day  to  keep  her  joints  limber  and  her  muscles  in 
proper  trim.  But  for  this  daily  practice  the  perform- 
ances of  our  circuses  would  be  the  theatre  of  many  a 
tragedy  instead  of  the  scenes  of  mirth  and  gladness 
that  they  are. 

The  fascination  that  the  circus  has  for  people  who 
know  nothing  about  its  hardships,  is  illustrated  in  the 
case  of  a  Georgia  lady,  who  lived  in  luxury,  and  whose 
husband  was  numbered  among  the  most  prominent  of 
the  State's  citizens.  She  became  imbued  with  a  de- 
sire that  she  would  like  to  sj^ort  tights  and  gauze 
dresses,  and  whirl  about  the  ring  on  a  spirited  horse, 
so  she  struck  up  acquaintance  with  an  equestrian,  who 
happened  to  come  along  with  a  fly-by-night  show, 
and  eloped  with  him.  The  husband  followed  the 
show  to  Texas  some  months  afterwards,  and  had  an 
interview  with  his  wife,  who  had  became  an  equestrienne 
in  a  small  way,  doing  a  pad-riding  act  in  each  perform- 
ance. An  interview  with  the  lady  failed  to  make  her 
see  her  folly.  The  husband  now  grew  desperate, 
went  away  and  hired  a  lot  of  cowboys  whom  he  took 
to  the  show  with  the  understandino-  that  as  soon  as 
Mile.  Eulalia  (the  wife's  adopted  name)  put  in  an  ap- 
pearance they  were  to  rush  forward,  and  seizing  her 
carry  her  from  the  tent.  When  the  lady  appeared  and 
had  been  lifted  upon  the  horse  by  the  clown,  and  the  ring- 
master was  touching  up  the  heels  of  the  animal  to  get 
him  into  a  funeral  jog,  the  husband  and  cowboys  ad- 
vanced. The  husband  seized  his  wife,  drao-oed  her 
from  the  horse,  and  while  the  cowboys  fought  back 
the  performers  and  attaches  he  got  her  into  a  carriage 
and  drove  her  away,  leaving  the  audience  in  the  wildest 
state  of  excitement.     Kind  words  and  gentle   treat- 


550 


ACROBATICS    AND     EQUESTlilANISM. 


ment  brouirlit  the  woman  back  to  licr  senses,  and  she  is 
now  in  licr  Georgia  homo  and  docs  not  want  any  more 
circus  experience. 

A  Paris  correspondent  tells  us  that  the  funeral  of 
that  charming  circus  rider,  Emilic  Loisset,  who  was 


^ 


DAN.    RICE. 

killed  in  Ai)ril,  1882,  was  a  Parisian  event.  The  poor 
o-irl  had  long  inhal)itcd  the  United  States,  and  had  the 
freedom  of  maimer  and  self-respect  which  so  often  dis- 
tinguish the  American  young  lady.  She  was  on  horsc- 
bat^k  one  of  the  most  graceful  creatures  imaginable. 
The  figure  was  lithe,  but  without  moagerness.  Ilcr 
poses  in  the  saddle  were  simply  exquisite,  and  they 


ACROBATICS   AND    EQUESTRIANISM.     '  551 

appeared  unstudied.  The  features  were  elegantly 
formed,  and  the  eyes  expressed  a  brave,  kind  soul. 
Emilia  Loisset  was  more  popular  than  Sarah  Bern- 
hardt had  ever  been  in  Paris.  Her  less  successful 
rivals  in  the  circus  were  brought  by  her  exceeding 
amiability  to  pardon  her  public  triumphs.  She  did 
not  seem  ever  to  excite  jealousy.  On  the  days  and 
nights  on  which  she  performed  the  circus  was  crowded 
with  fashionable  people.  There  was  no  amount  of 
wealth  that  she  might  not  have  possessed  had  she  not 
been  a  proud,  strong-willed,  self-respecting  girl.  She 
had  no  carriage  and  used  to  walk  from  the  hippodrome 
to  the  Eue  Oberkampf,  where  she  had  a  small  lodging 
on  the  fifth  floor.  A  number  of  aristocratic  and  plu- 
tocratic admirers  used  to  escort  her  to  the  door, 
through  which  none  of  them  were  allowed  by  her  to 
pass.  She  aspired  to  create  for  herself  a  happy  home 
and  to  marry  somebody  whom  she  could  love  and 
esteem.  Her  sister,  Clotilde,  is  the  morganatic  Avife 
of  the  Prince  de  Reuss,  brother  of  the  German  ambas- 
sador at  Constantinople,  and  is  looked  up  to  in  her 
family  circle.  The  admiration  of  the  Empress  Eliza- 
beth for  Emilie  was  increased  by  the  fact  that  the 
charming  circus  rider  spurned  the  address  of  the  crown 
prince  of  Austria. 

He  was  very  much  in  love  with  her  when  she  was  in 
Germany,  a  couple  of  years  ago,  and  would  have  for- 
sworn marriage  if  she  would  have  consented  to  be  his 
Dubarry.  She  did  not  like  the  young  man,  and  told 
him  so.  The  empress,  when  she  was  here,  used  to 
make  appointments  to  ride  in  the  Bois  with  Emilie. 
Her  majesty  thought  the  ecuyere  charming  to  look  at, 
but  wanting  in  firmness  of  hand.  The  horse  on  which 
she  rode  with  imperial  Elizabeth  in  the  shaded  alleys 
of  the  Bois  was  the  one  that  occasioned  her  death  by 


552  ACROBATICS  AND  EQUESTRIANISM. 

rollins'  over  on  her  and  drivino:  the  crutch  of  the 
saddle  into  her  side.  The  august  hidy  noticed  the 
hardness  of  the  brute's  mouth,  and  the  teasing  and  at 
the  same  time  irresohite  way  in  which  Euiilio  held  her 
bridle. 

Emilie  Loisset  aimed  at  classic  purity  of  style. 
There  was  nothing  sensational  in  her  manner.  Her 
imperial  friend  Elizabeth  thought  her  the  most  lady- 
like person  she  had  seen  in  Paris.  Her  gestures  were 
simple,  her  address  amiable,  and  there  was  serious- 
ness even  in  her  smiles.  Members  of  the  Jockey 
Club  spoke  to  her  hat  in  hand.  Her  death  was 
entirely  due  to  the  hard  mouth  of  her  horse.  At  a 
rehearsal  the  horse  turned  round,  made  for  the  stable, 
and,  finding  the  door  shut  against  him,  reared  up 
on  his  hind  legs.  Balance  was  lost,  the  horse  rolled 
over,  and  the  crutch  of  the  saddle  smashed  in  the 
ribs  upon  the  lungs  and  heart.  Poor  Emilie  had  the 
courage  in  this  state  to  walk  to  the  infirmary,  and 
when  she  was  taken  home  to  mount  five  flights  of 
stairs. 


CHAPTER     XLI. 


A   ROMANCE    OF   THE    RING. 


There  is  a  great  deal  of  romance  in  the  life  of  a 
circus  performer  ;  and  as  the  theatrical  world  is  often 
penetrated  in  search  of  subjects  rich  in  fiction,  so, 
too,  romancers  enter  the  circus  ring  to  find  a  hero  or 
heroine  for  an  o'er-true  tale.  In  a  Western  paper  1 
found  the  following  pretty  and  touching  story,  which 
had  evidently  been  copied  from  some  other  paper 
without  credit,  and  which,  as  it  deals  with  circus  life, 
and  particularly  that  feature  of  it  we  have  just  left  — 
equestrianism  —  I  believe  it  will  be  found  interesting, 
and  in  reproducing  it  regret  that  I  am  unacquainted 
with  the  source  whence  it  came,  as  the  publication  in 
which  it  originally  appeared  certainly  deserves  men- 
tion :  — 

The  North  American  Consolidated  Circus  was  to 
show  in  Shadowville.  Shadowville  was  named  after 
a  legend  of  a  haunted  shadow  that  envelopes  the  town 
after  sunset ;  and  long  before  the  canvas  flaps  were 
drawn  back  and  the  highly  gilded  ticket- wagon,  with 
the  ' '  electric  ticket  seller ' '  was  ready  to  change  green- 
backs for  the  red-backed  "  open  sesame,"  the  ground 
and  two  streets  leadino;  to  the  lot  were  crowded  with  an 
anxious,  expectant,  peanut-munching,  chewing-gum- 
masticating  collection.  The  large  posters  and  hand- 
bills announced  in  highly  colored  style  the  arrival  of 
'*Miss  Nannie  Florenstein,  the  most  wonderful  bare- 
back  rider   in    the   known  world  ! ' '  while  the   little 

(553) 


554  A    ROMANCE   OF    TIIK    RING. 

"gutter  snipes"  simply  begged  the  people  to  "wait 
for  Miss  Nannie  Florenstcin." 

The  "  doors  arc  thrown  open,"  and  in  less  than 
twenty  minntes  the  immense  canvas  is  rising  and 
falling  with  the  concentrated  respirations  of  five  thou- 
sand people.  Such  a  crowd  !  Charles  Dickens,  An- 
thony Trolloi)o,  or  Bret  Harte  would  hava  been  in 
ecstacies  at  the  curious  collection  of  faces,  costumes, 
and  vernacular,  not  to  mention  the  expressions  of 
genuine  enthusiasm  or  surprise  at  the  entries  into 
the  ring  of  even  the  sawdust  rakers.- 

The  band  has  ended  its  attempt  at  one  of  Strauss's 
waltzes,  and  the  master  of  ceremonies,  INIr.  Lunt, 
walks  consc({ucntially  into  the  ring^  bowing  to  the 
vast  concourse,  who  applaud  at  —  they  scarce  know 
what. 

"This  way,  Mr.  Oliphant." 

"Aye,  aye,  sir !  'Ere  hi  ham.  Ah,  sir!  this  bevy 
of  smilinj]^  faces  is  rcfreshin«:  even  to  the  sawdust. 
[Applause.]  What  shall  we  have  now,  sir?"  asks 
the  jester  ( ?)  as  he  throws  his  hat  in  the  air  and 
catches  it  on  —  the  ground. 

"Mr.  Tom  Karl." 

"  Not  the  tender  singer,  sir?  " 

"You  mean  tenor  singer  I  No  I  The  pad  rider, 
sir." 

"  It's  all  the  same,  Mr.  Lunt  ;  but  time's  Hying. 
Ah  !  here  is  Karl  !  Now,  then,  Mr.  Karl,  that's  the 
way  I  used  to  ride  —  (aside)  in  my  mind." 

And  so  it  goes.  One  act  after  another,  each  one 
showing  agility,  daring,  and  skill  ;  while  the  old  jester 
and  ring  master  entertain  the  crowd  and  rest  the  per- 
formers. 

"Miss  Nannie  Florenstcin,  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
will  now  have  the  honor  of  iippearing  before  you  in 


A    ROMANCE    OF   THE   RING.  555 

her  wonderful  bareback  ;ict  —  riding  a  wild,  untamed 
horse  without  either  bridle,  saddle  or  surcingle.  An 
act  never  before  accomplished — although  often  at- 
tempted —  by  any  lady  in  the  world  !  Miss  Nannie 
Florenstein  !  " 

A  lithe,  pretty  little  lady,  with  an  anxious,  care- 
worn face,  stepped  into  the  ring,  and,  acknowledging 
the  applause  of  the  audience,  vaulted  lightly  on  the 
back  of  her  black  horse,  and  quicker  than  a  flash 
of  lightning  was  off.  Around  and  aronnd  the  forty- 
two-foot  circle  she  goes,  pirouetting,  posturing,  and 
doing  a  really  graceful  and  wonderful  act. 

She  is  what  all  the  papers  had  claimed  she  would 
be.  There  is  a  spirit  of  reckless  daring  flashing  from 
her  dark  eyes  as  she  jumps  "  the  banners,"  and  even 
the  old  and  stoical  ring  master  watches  her  anxiously 
as  she  attempts  one  act  more  daring  than  the  rest  — 
that  of  standing  on  her  tip-toes  on  the  horse's  hind- 
quarters and  slowly  pirouetting  as  the  animal  con- 
tinues his  mad  career. 

Suddenly  she  reels.  She  has  lost  her  balance. 
Over  she  goes.  Her  head  has  struck  the  ring  board. 
A  shriek  of  a  thousand  anxious  voices  rends  the  air, 
and  all  is  confusion. 

She  is  bleeding,  bleeding  profusely  from  a  cut  in  her 
forehead.  A  hundred  hands  are  ready  to  convey  her 
to  the  dressing- tent. 

A  rough-hewn  specimen  of  a  man  suddenly  appears 
in  their  midst.  Where  he  came  from  or  what  moved 
him  no  one  knows. 

*'  Stand  back !  stand  back,  I  say,  and  give  the  gal 
air  !     Do  ye  hear  ?  ' ' 

Instinctively  every  one  obeys  him. 

"  Yere's  a  doctor.  Doctor,  this  gal  I  know.  'Tend 
ter  her,  an'  look  ter  me  for  the  perkisites." 


556  A   KOMANCE   OP  THE   RING. 

A  quiet,  confident-looking  gentleman,  Dr.  Adiiras,  is 
alread}'-  by  her  side,  stopping  the  flow  of  blood,  sind 
under  his  directions  she  is  conveyed  to  her  dressing- 
tent,  the  miner,  tall,  athletic,  and  with  immense,  sun- 
burned beard,  following  anxiously  in  the  rear. 

The  performance  has  been  renewed  and  the  crowd 
are  forgetting  the  accident,  when  the  miner  appears  in 
the  ring  dragging  after  him  a  performer.  Monsieur  La 
Forge,  as  he  is  called,  "the  strongest  man  in  the 
world,"  who  resists  with  all  his  might  the  iron  muscles 
that  arc  clinched  like  a  vice  on  his  collar. 

A  trapeze  act  is  being  performed,  but  all  eyes  are 
on  the  miner  and  his  victim,  not  one  of  the  performers 
having  interfered,  as  they  all  dislike  and  fear  La  Forge 
for  his  bull  vino;   braggadocio  character. 

"  Lcddies  and  gintlemin,  this  yere  coyote  am  ther 
cause  on  that  yere  young  gal  er  falling.  I  knows  'em 
both.  He  wanted  tor  kill  her.  Yes,  yor  did,  ye 
skunk  !  lie  stole  her  when  she  war  a  chile  from  my 
sister.  I  knowed  him  ;  I  knowed  her.  He  hcarn  I 
was  coming  ter-day  and  he  sed  that  he'd  kill  her. 
Lay  down,  ycr  he-bar  !  Lay  down,  I  say. 
*  *'  I  was  standinj:^  close  on  ter  this  rinij^  when  I  seed 
him  fire  sumthing  at  her.  She  turned  her  putty  e^'es 
to  see  what  it  Avur  and  over  fhe  went.  Mister  per- 
formers, ye'll  'sense  me  fur  interruptin'  yer  perform- 
ances, but  I  thought  I'd  let  these  yere  know  who  this 
skunk  is.  Now,  then,  Meester  Ler  Forgey,  alias  John 
liafferty,  what  have  yer  got  to  say  to  my  statement?  " 

"Hang  him!  Hani'  him  1  Strannjle  him!"  broke 
in  the  crowd  as  they  left  their  seats  and  rushed  for  th6 


rmg. 


"Back!    Back!     Ycr    shan't  hang  him!     Do  yer 
hear?     Ther  fust  man  that  raises  a  finger  to  throttle 


A   ROMANCE   OF  THE   RING.  557 

him,    I'll    pile    ill    that   yere    saw    dust!      Do    yer 
hear?  " 

His  revolver  levelled  at  the  angry,  grumbling  crowd 
held  them  back.  They  all  knew  him.  All  knew  old 
Ned  Struthers,  the  most  daring  and  best  shot  on  the 
frontier ;  a  man  whom  the  redskins  feared  more  than 
a  whole  army  of  trained  United  States  soldiers  ;  a 
remnant  of  a  race  of  men  who  could  settle  the  Indian 
question  quicker,  better,  and  with  less  expense  than  a 
whole  army  of  Indian  whiskey-selling  agents  ;  a  man 
who  they  knew  was  dangerous  and  vindictive  when 
aroused.     So  all  kept  their  distance. 

*'  Now,  thin,  yer  goll-darned  skunk,  git  up  oflf  yer 
knees!     Git!" 

<'  The  doctor  says  Miss  Florenstein  is  dying!  "  the 
ring  master,  pale  and  breathless,  announced  as  he  ran 
into  the  ring. 

"  Dying,  did  yer  say,  Mifeter?  Oh,  yer  mean  rat- 
tlesnake !  Pray  she  may  live  —  pray!  Ef  she  dies, 
I'll  hang  yer  scalp  on  her  coffin  !     Do  you  hear?  " 

Poor  Eafferty,  by  the  intervention  of  the  sheriff, 
who  had  a  free  pass  to  the  show,  and  was  present,  was 
released  from  Ned  Struthers' s  hold  and  taken  away  to 
the  lock-up  while  Ned  hurried  to  the  bedside  of  his 
sister's  child.  Miss  Nannie  Florenstein. 

She  tossed  and  moaned  upon  her  improvised  bed 
of  straw,  an  anguish-stricken  few  around  her ;  for 
she  was  loved  by  the  company.  Her  lustreless  eyes 
would  open  appealingly,  and  looking  with  tear-bedim- 
med  expression  at  some  familiar  face  near  her,  try  to 
smile  them  a  recognition  —  a  sad,  painful  recognition. 

The  doctor  knelt  beside  her  with  one  hand  on  her 
pulse  and  one  on  her  bandaged  forehead,  and  as  he  no- 
ticed the  weary,  faint  pulsation,  would  shake  his  head, 
prophetic  of  her  death. 


558  A    R05IANGE   OF   THE   RING. 

The  flaps  of  her  tent  arc  raised,  and  old  Ned 
Strutliers,  hat  in  hand,  looks  in,  asking  in  a  mute 
way  permission  to  enter.  The  doctor  sees  him  and 
beckons  him  to  her  side. 

Nannie  hears  his  footstep  as  it  crushes  the  straw  be- 
neath his  weight,  and,  slowly  oi)ening  her  eyes,  looks 
at  liini  in  an  indifferent,  inquisitive  way.  Suddenly 
they  brighten  ;  she  closes  them  as  if  to  think  —  in  a 
minute  opens  them  with  a  glad  smile  of  affectionate 
recognition  lighting  U[)  her  handsome,  pale  face,  raises 
her  weak  hand,  beckons  him  to  her,  and  as  he  takes 
her  little  fingers  into  his  brawny  palm  she  pulls  him 
gently  to  her  and  whispers  something  in  his  ear.  She 
cannot  speak  loud. 

Old  Ned  cannot  keep  back  the  tears  as  they  slowly 
run  down  his  bronzed  cheek  and  are  lost  in  the  shadow 
of  his  beard.  He  has  now  knelt  beside  her  and  an- 
swers her  whispered  question. 

"  Yes,  little  un  !  I'm  yer  uncle  — ycr  loving  uncle  I 
Got  well,  little  un,  and  I'll  take  care  on  yer."  He 
could  say  no  more. 

She,  poor  little  bruised  body,  turns  to  him  a  grate- 
ful smile  of  affection,  and  again  drawing  him  to  her, 
kisses  his  wrinkled  old  forehead,  while  the  group  who 
are  silent  witnesses  of  the  scene  turn  away  their  heads 
in  silent  sorrow. 

"  Say,  Doctor,  can't  we  move  her  to  sum  more  kum- 
fortable  (juartcrs?  —  to  ther  hotel?  Her  aunty  lives 
some  twenty  miles  from  yere,  and  I'll  send  for  her." 

Again  Nannie  opened  her  eyes,  looking  anxiously  at 
the  doctor,  but  a  shadow  darkened  the  tent  opening 
and  a  young,  handsome-faced  man  enters  ;  instantly 
her  eyes  meet  his,  and  she  beckons  him  to  her,  and 
drawing  him  down  to  her  side,  whispers  a  few  Avords  in 
his  ear.     His   face  brightens,  and   turning  to  Ned  — 


A    ROMANCE    OF   THE    RING.  559 

who  is  curiously  watching  this  hist  scene  — puts  out  a 
hard,  muscuhir  hand  as  he  says  :  — 

"  Mr.  Struthers,  Nannie  tells  me  you  are  her  uncle. 
I  am  engaged  to  be  married  to  Nan." 

Old  Ned  eyed  him  curiously  and  doubtingly  as  he 
replies  :  — 

"  Wal,  sir  !  what  Nan  tells  yer  is  gospel  truth.  I'm 
her  uncle  ;  but  about  the  other  part  of  the  bizncss  I 
ain't  so  sartin  "  —  but  seeing  Nan's  troubled  face  ap- 
pealingly  turned  to  him,  he  continues  :  "  But  Avas  she 
right?  Nan  oughter  be  married.  Ef  she  was  she 
wouldn't  be  yere,  a  jumping  on  bar  horses'  backs,  he 
showing  her  —  I  mean,  sir,  she  oughter  be  at  hum,  and 
I'd  do  thar  barback  ridin'  for  ther  crowd  — thet  is,  our 
leetle  crowd,  ter  hum  ;  but  'sense  me,  we  must  move 
Nan  —  what's  yer  bizness,  sir?  " 

"  I'm  in  the  same  business  as  Nan  ;  we  were  brought 
up  together,  trained  together,  and  next  week  we  were 
to  be  married." 

"  Together,  I  serpose?  "  laughingly  answered  Ned, 
as  he  saw  Nan  brighten  and  smile  at  her  intended's 
words. 

Nan  was  carefully  removed  to  a  hotel,  the  proprie- 
tor of  the  circus  defraying  all  the  necessary  expenses 
of  a  large  room  and  extra  attendance.  Old  Ned  was 
about  to  start  for  his  sister's,  Nan's  aunt,  to  attend 
her,  as  the  doctor  had  taken  a  more  hopeful  view  of 
her  recovery  if  properly  nursed,  when  he,  entering  the 
bar-room  of  the  hotel,  preparatory  to  starting,  was 
suddenly  made  aware  that  he  was  the  target  of  at  least 
a  dozen  eyes,  all  staring  with  a  perplexed  gaze  at  him. 
First  he  thought  it  might  be  something  in  his  dress, 
but  this  he  quickly  ascertained  was  not  so  ;  then  he 
surveyed  his  face  in  the  mirror  opposite,  At  last  he 
got  angry. 


560  A   ROMANCE    OF   THE    RING. 

"  What  arc  yo  all  staring  at?  Do  I  owe  cnny  on 
yer  cnnything,  ch?  "     He  was  defiant  now. 

"  No,  Mr.  Struthcrs,  you  don't  owe  anybody  hero 
anything  that  I  am  aware  of!  We  have  congregated 
here  to  congratulate  you.  We  have  heard  you  had  re- 
covered your  niece  and  your  mine,  and  wo  come,  as 
fellow-townsmen,  to  congratulate  you."  It  was  the 
town  justice  who  spoke. 

"  My  neese,  parduer,  I've  diskivered,  but  ther  mine 
I  wanter  sell  out  to-morrow,  and " 

"  Mr.  Struthcrs,  here's  a  telegram  for  you."  A 
messenger  boy  handed  him  a  telegram. 

*'Read  that  fir  me,  jidge,  will  yer?"  And  he 
handed  the  telegram  to  the  justice  of  the  peace. 

"  Mr.  Struthcrs,  it  is  an  offer  from  Col.  Allston,  of 
San  Francisco.  He  says  :  '  I  will  give  you  three  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  and  one  quarter  share  for  your 
Red  Gulch  mine.  Answer.  Pay  in  cash.'  That's 
all,  sir,  only  the  news  has  been  on  the  street  for  half 
an  hour !  ' ' 

"  Wal,  I  declare  that's  prime  news  I  Let's  take  a 
drink,  l)oys.  Squire,  you  jist  answer  that  tillygram, 
will  yer?  Tell  Kurnel  Allston  I'll  take  the  offer,  and 
he  may  send  the  cash  yere.  Say,  boys,  thet's  gud 
news,  but  I  must  tell  my  neese  !  " 

"  Mr.  Struthcrs,  before  you  go  will  you  tell  us  about 
your  niece  ?  " 

"Sartlingly!  Yer  see  boys,  abeout  fifteen  years 
agone  my  sister  died  an'  left  har  leetle  one  — Nannie 
was  her  name — left  her  with  a  widder  woman  in 
'Fresco.  I  war  away  in  Nevady  ;  hed  only  been  gone 
three  months.  The  young  un  war  only  nine  y'ars  old, 
an'  wdicn  I  got  thet  news  I  war  struck  dumb.  Yer  see, 
my  sister  hed  heart  disease.  I  started  with  my  pack 
mule  fir  'Fresco,  but  whin  I  'rived  thar  the   young  un 


A   ROMANCE   OF   THE   KING.  561 

and  the  widder  war  gone.     I  hearn  she  hed  gone  to 

Brazzel  with  her   husband,    a  man  named  Kaflerty,  a 

sirkus   performer,  so  I   waited.     Abeout  thet  time  I 

was  takin  sick  with  small-pox,  and  whin  I  got  well  I 

could  not  get  no  news  on  thet  young  un,  so  I  gave  up 

thar  trial.     Abeout  one  month  ago  I  war  at  Red  Gulch 

Canyon,  er  staking  off  my  '  find,'  whin  Jim  Parkins, 

my  ole  pard,  wrote  me  from  San  Yosea  thet  my  leetle 

un  war  with  this  yere  sirkus,  and  thet  her  name  was 

Nannie  Florenstein.     So  I   got   on   thar  trail,  found 

this  yere  Eafferty  hed  her  as  his' n  —  or  raether  his 

darter  —  got  $200  a  week  fir  her  an'  gave  her  nuthing, 

so  I  lit  on  him  yere  to-day,  drapped  on  him  foul,  and 

ther  war  wolf  meat  in  the  air.     But  he  crawled,  an' 

now  I'm  going  ter  send  him  ter  prison.     I  think  he 

can  do  more  good  breakin'  stuns  than  performing  on 

cannons  —  eh  ?  " 

The  crowd  —  it  was  a  crowd  by  the  time  he  had 

finished  —  gave  the  old  man  three  rousing  cheers  and 

he  escaped  from  them,  hastening  to  Nannie's  room  to 

find  her  wonderfully  improved  and  able  to  sit  up. 
****  ***** 

The  circus  left  Shadowville  without  "  Miss  Nannie 
Florenstein,"  and  to-day  she  has  returned  from  a 
village  church  a  blooming  bride,  "  Frank  Grace,  the 
celebrated  bareback  rider,"  being  her  happy  husband. 

Old  Ned  occupies  a  seat  in  their  carriage. 

"  Uncle,  you  have  made  me  a  happy  woman  and 
Frank  a  happy  man." 

*'  Yas,  leetle  un,  I  serpose  so.  It  is  better  than 
bar'-back  riding,  ain't  it?  " 

"  Yes,  uncle.  But  how  can  I  thank  you  for  all  the 
wealth  you  have  showered  on  me,  and  for  the  home 
you  have  bought  us?"  again  asked  Nan,  as  she  kissed 
his  happy  face. 


562 


A    i;()MAN<  H    OF    Tin:    KINCf, 


"Wall,  Icctle  nil,  I   don't  kiiuU'r  want  ciiy  thanks, 

only  pk'.se  don't — I 
niean  et"  ycr  licv  cny 
children,  Icetlc  un, 
don't  trust  'cm  ter 
euy  widdcrs  ter  sell 
'cm  out  ter  sirkus 
pcoidc  fur  bar' -back 
ridin'." 

"  You  may  be  cer- 
tain of  that  Uncle 
Str  u  th  er  s,  "  an- 
swered Frank,  as  he 
kissed  his  bride. 

"  "Wall,  I  hope  so. 
Enyhow,  if  ycr  do, 
see  they  doesn't  fall 
from  thar  horse's 
back  into  a  rich  un- 
c  1  e  '  s  ])ockct  —  eh, 
you  little  pet!  "  And 
the  carriaj^c  stopped 
in  front  of  their  new 
home,  hajipy,  bright 
and  cheerful. 

A    HU3IAN    PYUAMID. 


CHAPTER    XLH. 


LEAPING   AND   TIBIBLING. 


One  of  the  great  features  of  all  travelling  tent-shows 
and,  indeed,  in  the  long  years  a  very  prominent  fea- 
ture of  the  legitimate  show  when  juggling,  tumbling 
and  thino^s  of  that  kind  were  either  interspersed 
between  the  acts  of  a  tragedy,  or  filled  the  intermission 
between  the  tragedy  and  farce,  was  the  acrobatic  art- 
ist, the  athlete,  the  gymnast,  or  whatever  else  you  may 
feel  like  calling  him.  At  the  beginning  of  this  cen- 
tury there  were  several  renowned  acrobats,  and  the 
number  has  increased  to  such  an  extent  —  and  the  gen- 
eral desire  for  exhibitions  of  physical  skill — that  acro- 
batics have  taken  possession  of  many  fields.  The  song 
and  dance  man  aims  to  introduce  as  much  as  possible  of 
it  into  his  act  or  sketch,  and  even  the  equestrian  and 
equestrienne  attempts  and  succeeds  in  combining  per- 
ilous somersaulting  with  skilful  riding,  and  the  nearer 
the  performer  goes  towards  breaking  his  neck  the 
better  the  people  seem  to  like  it. 

The  athlete  who  displayed  his  prowess  or  skill  in 
the  arenas  of  ancient  Rome  or  Athens  was  a  much 
more  important  personage  than  the  circus  performer 
of  to-day.  It  was  the  passionate  love  of  manly  sports 
which  produced  the  matchless  Greek  form,  the  acme 
of  physical  perfection.  The  successful  athlete,  acro- 
bat, or  charioteer  of  two  thousand  years  ago  was  a  pop- 
ular hero,  and  his  triumphs,  loves,  and  career  were 
immortalized  in  poetry  and  song.     A  successful  ath- 

(563) 


564  LEAPING   AND   TUMBLING. 

lete  was  then  of  more  importance  than  tlio  congress- 
man of  to-day.  And  yet  the  modern  athlete,  Avhile 
occupying  a  much  lower  social  scale  than  the  ancient 
practitioner,  is  just  as  strong,  and  the  acrobat  of 
to-day  is  even  more  skilful  than  his  classic  predeces- 
sor. The  circus  performer  thinks  nothing  of  execut- 
ing feats  which  no  later  than  a  century  ago  were 
deemed  impossible. 

Nearly  every  man  and  boy  who  appears  in  the  circus 
arena  now-a-days  is  counted  a  member  of  the  corps 
that  does  both  grand  niid  lofty  tumbling.  In  small 
shows  the  corps  of  Icapcrs  and  tumblers  is  increased 
by  the  addition  of  several  dummies  who  can  do  little 
more  than  turn  a  hand-spring  or  a  forward  somersault 
either  on  the  sawdust  or  from  the  spring-board.  Many 
of  the  best  acrobats  have  begun  their  studies  in  the 
open  streets  by  walking  on  their  hands  or  hammering 
their  heels  against  the  bare  bricks  in  somersaults  or 
hand-springs  ;  others  have  been  educated  in  the  ring 
following  their  fathers  and  sometimes  grandfathers 
into  the  arenic  profession.  From  the  ranks  of  these 
two  classes  some  of  the  best  acrobats  and  athletes  have 
sprung.  I  can  recall  several  very  good  leapers  and 
tumblers,  whose  earliest  efforts  were  'witnessed  and 
wondered  at  in  some  vacant  lot  or  friendly  stable 
yard  —  where  spring-boards  were  improvised  and  feats 
as  dangerous  as  "  revolving  twice  in  the  air  without 
alighting  on  their  feet" — as  the  ring  master  usually 
announces  this  act,  in  his  most  grandiloquent  style  — 
were  attcmjjtod  itt  the  peril  of  young  and  frail  necks. 
So  too  with  many  horizontal  l)ar  and  tra[)eze  perform- 
ers. But  to  come  back  to  the  loapors  and  tumblers. 
The  band  gives  a  flourish  and  in  lliey  troop  for  the 
"  ground  act."  They  form  in  a  row,  and  bow  to  the 
audience  and  then   away  each  one  whirls  in  a  hand- 


LEAPING   AND   TUMBLING. 


565 


spring  and  front  somersault.  Then  they  retire  and 
singly,  the  men  begin  to  tumble  backward  and  forward 
across  and  about  the  ring,  heads  and  feet  are  kept  in 
a  whirl  until  the  final  effort  is  reached,  when  the  clown, 
who  is  frequently  as  good  an  artist  in  the  business  as 


the  rest  of  his  turablinsi:  confreres,  chases  the  swiftest 
of  the  number  around  the  ring,  the  clown  winding  him 
up  while  the  latter  rolls  like  a  wheel,  in  back  hand- 
springs along  the  inner  edge  of  the  ring.     A  short  in- 


5(l6  LEAPfNG   AND   TminLING. 

tervnl,  and  the  le:i})crs  coino  in, —  tlio  same  men  as 
those  who  have  done  the  tumbling, —  how,  and  retire  to 
follow  each  other  rapidly  down  an  inclined  plane,  ])oimd 
from  the  spring-board,  and  after  a  forward  somersault 
land  safely  and  gracefully  in  the  soft  mattress  beyond. 
One,  two,  three,  four,,  and  five  horses  arc  brought  in 
and  placed  in  front  of  the  spring-board  while  the  mat- 
tress is  drawn  farther  away.  As  the  number  of  horses 
increases  and  the  peril  and  distance  grow  greater,  the 
number  of  Icapers  decrease  till  at  last  three  appear,  or 
perhaps  more  horses  are  added  to  the  equine  line,  the 
mattress  is  placed  at  the  farther  end  of  the  ring  and 
the  ring-master  —  sometimes  it  is  a  lecturer  like  Harry 
Evarts,  the  "  little  Grant  orator,"  of  Coup's  show  for 
the  past  and  present  season  —  mounts  a  pedestal  near 
the  entrance,  and  with  stentorian  voice  remarks : 
"  L-.idies  and  gentlemen,  Mr.  Batchellor,  the  champion 
leaper  of  the  world,  will  now  throw  a  double  somer- 
sault over  nineteen  horses  [sometimes  fewer  elephants 
are  employed]  — that  is  to  say,  the  gentleman  will  re- 
volve twice  in  the  air  before  alighting  on  his  feet  on 
the  mattress  —  a  feat  that  no  other  performer  in  this 
or  any  other  country  can  accomplish.  Ladies  and 
gentlemen,  Mr.  Balchcllor,"  and  Mr.  Batchellor,  who 
is  an  excellent  Icapor,  and  shares  the  championship 
with  Frank  Gardner,  formerly  of  Cole's  show,  but 
now  with  Barnum,  makes  the  leap  in  a  clever  and 
comparatively  easy  manner. 

This  dilHcult  feat,  never  executed,  it  is  asserted,  till 
within  the  past  one  hundred  years,  can  now  be  wit- 
nessed at  almost  every  first-class  circus  performance  in 
this  country — but  not  always  for  the  same  distance 
attained  by  Messrs.  Batchellor  and  Gardner.  Forty 
years  ago  the  Britisli  i)er former  who  could  throw  a 
double  somersault  was  looked  on  as  a  wonder.     The 


LEAPING   AND    TUMBLING.  567 

jvriter,  some  thirty-three  years  ago,  saw  Torakinson,  a 
famous  British  clown  and  acrobat,  execute  this  feat 
in  Franconi's  circus,  then  stationed  for  the  season  at 
Edinburo;,  ScotLand.  It  was  the  same  Franconi  who 
afterward  managed  the  hippodrome  in  New  York  in 
1863-4,  and  the  company  was  booked  as  first-chiss  in 
every  respect.  Tlie  double  somersault  was  performed 
by  Tomkinson  at  his  benefit,  and  the  announcement  of 
the  then  great  feat  packed  the  wooden  building  to  suf- 
focation. When  the  ring-master  had  made  the  prelim- 
inary speech,  and  Tomkinson  retired  up  the  steep 
incline  Avhich  termimated  in  the  spring-board,  every 
heart  stood  still.  A  quick,  impetuous  rush  down  the 
board,  a  bound  high  in  the  air,  a  slow  revolution  and  the 
gymnast  descended  nearly  to  the  ground.  It  seemed 
impossible  to  do  it,  but  in  the  last  six  feet  the  curled 
up  body  turned  once  more,  and  Tomkinson  alighted 
on  the  big,  soft  mattress  on  his  feet,  but  staggering. 
He  was  prevented  from  falling  by  the  ring-master,  and 
as  he  turned  to  go  inside,  Franconi,  the  enthusiastic 
French  manager,  patted  him  warmly  on  the  back,  amid 
the  applause  of  the  vast  audience.  It  was  a  rare  feat 
in  those  days.  Tomkinson  and  the  few  other  British 
double  somersault  performers  did  it  only  at  infrequent 
intervals. 

In  this  country  Costella,  a  noted  circus  leaper,  made 
it  more  ditficult  by  clearing  a  number  of  horses  at  the 
same  time.  But  soon  a  number  of  acrobats  were  able 
to  follow  his  example,  and  even  excel  him  in  height 
and  distance.  Nowadays  a  circus  acrobat  who  cannot 
do  a  double  somersault  is  not  considered  anything  but 
an  ordinary  preformer  unless  he  can  do  other  sensa- 
tional and  original  feats.  Last  year  Barnum  had  a 
corps  of  acrobats,  of  whom  seven  preformed  double 
somersaults  every  night  during  the  season.     John  Rob- 


568  LEAPING   AND   TUMBLING. 

inson  has  five  men  who  can  do  it.  The  most  surprising 
and  unexcelled  feat  of  double  somersault  throwinij:  was 
that  of  the  Garnella  Brothers,  who  performed  it  in 
variety  halls  and  circuses  a  few  years  ac^o.  Standing 
on  his  brother's  shoulders  the  younger  Garnella  sprang 
up  and  revolved  twice,  landing  again  on  the  shoulders. 
When  it  is  considered  that  the  double  somersault  by 
other  performers  is  accomplished  liy  a  short  spurt,  a 
spring-board,  and  no  restriction  as  to  the  spot  ol  alight- 
ing, the  feat  of  young  Garnella  must  be  classed  among 
the  unprecedented  marvels  of  the  acrobatic  art. 

The  triple  somersault  is  a  dream  of  every  young  and 
ambitious  acrobat.     It  requires  phenominal  dexterity 
of  body,  and  is  known  to  be  so  dangerous  that  few 
have  even  attempted  it.     Fame  and  fortune  awaits  any 
performer  Avho  can  do  it,  say    twenty  times  in  one 
tentinf'   season.      Were    it   not  that   circus   manaofcrs 
know  that  the  feat,  or  even  the  attempt,  if  repeated  a 
limited  number   of  times,  will    certainly  result    in  a 
broken  neck,  they  could  well  afford  to  pay  the  performer 
$10,000  to    $20,000  for  a  season  ;  and  w^ere  it   not, 
too,  a  proven   fact,  it  would  seem  that  the    laws  of 
gravitation  and  the   limitations  of  physical  dexterity 
forbade  the  turning  of  a  triple  somersault  except  I)y 
accident.     In  turning  a  double  somersault  off  a  spring- 
board, it  is  necessary  to  make  a  leap  at  an  angle  of 
about  thirty  degrees  to  obtain  the  necessary  "  ballast" 
or  impetus  to  turn  twice.     If  an  almost  perpendicular 
leap    is    made,    the    leaper    would    not  have   leverage 
enough  to  turn.     In  order  to  make  the  doul)le  somer- 
sault the  performer  has  to  leap  from  the  springboard 
with  all  his  might  to  get  the  proper  angle  as  well  as  to 
attain  a  sufficient  height,  so  that  he  may  have  time  to 
turn  twice  over  before  alighting.     The  same  conditions 
govern  the  triple  somersault,  only  it  is  necessary  to  go 
about  one-third  hi<rher  int.)  fh^*  -'ir. 


LEAPING   AND   TtTMBLING.  569 

All  American  named  Turner  accomplished  a  triple 
somersault  once  in  this  country  and  again  in  England. 
He  tried  it  a  third  time  and  broke  his  neck.  It  is 
claimed  that  with  this  exception  and  the  exception  of 
Bob  Stickney,  of  John  Robinson's  show,  and  Sam  Rein- 
hardt,  an  ex-leaper,  no  acrobat  has  been  successful. 
The  skeptic  may  say  triple  somersaults  may  be  accom- 
plished by  the  aid  of  higher  and  more  powerful  spring- 
boards than  those  in  use,  but  that  would  merely  change 
the  angle,  and  the  result  would  be  the  same.  Of 
course  the  board  could  be  placed  high  enough,  but  the 
specific  gravity  of  the  performer's  body  would  be  in- 
creased while  descending.  The  height  is  not  the  only 
trouble.  If  it  was  only  height,  such  men  as  Stickney, 
Batchellor,  Gardner  and  one  or  two  others,  by  improved 
appliances  and  practice  would  overcome  that  diffi- 
culty. But  after  the  double  somersault  is  accomplished 
and  the  performer  is  ready  to  turn  again,  he  "loses 
his  catch"  or  the  control  of  his  body,  and  is  governed 
in  his  descent  by  gravitation  alone.  His  head  being 
heavier  than  his  feet,  he  is  very  apt  to  light  on  it  first 
and  break  his  neck. 

The  first  recorded  attempt  to  throw  a  triple  somer- 
sault in  this  country  was  made  by  a  performer  in  Van 
Amburgh's  circus  at  Mobile,  Alabama,  in  1842.  He 
broke  his  neck.  Another  attempt  was  made  in  London, 
England,  in  1846.  It  was  made  in  Astley's  amphi- 
theatre, then  leased  to  Howe  &  Gushing,  the  American 
managers.  In  this  company  was  M.  J.  Lipman,  a  fine 
vaulter,  Levi  J.  North,  now  in  Brooklyn,  New  York,  a 
famous  equestrian ;  the  late  William  O.  Dale,  a  native 
of  Cincinnati,  who  died  here,  blind  and  broken  down, 
and  who  was  an  acrobat  and  equestrian  of  great 
reputation,  and  Wm.  J.  Hobbes,  a  fine  leaper.  It 
was  previously  announced  that  Hobbes  would  attempt 


570  LEAPIXa   AND    TUMBLIXO. 

a  triple  somersault,  and  the  house  was  jammed.  lie 
tried  it,  and  "was  instantly  killed.  The  next  to  try  it 
was  John  Amor,  who  was  born  under  the  roof  of  Dan 
Rice's  father's  domicile,  near  Girard,  Pennsylvania. 
Amor  travelled  for  years  in  this  country  with  Dan  Rice's 
circus,  and  in  that  day  was  considered  the  greatest 
gymnast  in  America,  if  not  in  the  world.  He  is  said 
to  be  the  first  performer  in  America  to  turn  a  double 
somersault  over  four  horses.  In  1859  he  went  to 
England  and  travelled  with  a  circus  all  through  the 
united  kingdom.  In  the  salne  year  he  attomi)ted  to 
turn  a  triple  somersault  at  the  Isle  of  Wight,  but 
landed  on  his  forehead  and  broke  his  neck. 

Billy  Dutton,  it  is  said,  performed  the  great  feat 
while  a  member  of  Lake's  circus,  at  Elkhorn,  Illinois, 
in  18t)(),  at  a  rehearsal,  in  the  presence  of  John  Law- 
ton,  the  famous  clown,  now  with  Robinson's  circus. 
Dutton  was  ambitious  to  have  it  to  say  he  did  it,  and 
did  not  make  the  attempt  with  the  intention  of  repeat- 
ing it.  lie  made  the  leap  from  a  high  spring-board. 
Dutton  said  then  he  would  not  try  it  again,  and  that 
his  lighting  upon  his  feet  was  an  accident,  as  he  could 
not  control  his  body  after  turning  the  second  time. 
Frank  Starks,  who  was  well  known  in  Cincinnati,  un- 
dertook the  feat  at  the  fair  grounds  in  Indianapolis  in 
1870,  for  a  wager  of  $100.  In  the  first  attempt  ho 
turned  three  times,  but  alighted  in  a  sitting  posture. 
Every  one  was  satisfied  with  the  result,  and  the  money 
was  tendered  him.  lie  proudly  refused  it,  saying  he 
would  repeat  it,  and  light  U[)on  his  feet  before  he  felt 
sufficiently  justified  in  taking  the  $100.  He  did  re- 
peat it,  but  struck  on  his  head,  dislocating  his  neck, 
and  death  resulted  a  few  hours  afterward.  Bob  Stick- 
ney  accomplished  the  great  feat  when  fourteen  years  of 
age,  while  practising  in  a  gymnasium  on  Fourteenth 


LEAPING   AND    TUMBLING. 


571 


Street,  New  York.  William  Stein,  an  attache  of 
Eobinsoii's  circus,  was  one  of  the  persons  who  held 
the  blanket  for  him  to  alight  upon.  Sticknoy  says  he 
believes  he  coukl  do  it  again,  but  would  not  attempt  it 
for  less  than  $10,000,  c  c 

being  fully  convinced 
that  the  chances  for 
his  final  exit  from  the 
arena  would  be  good 
on  that  occasion. 
Sam  Reinhardt,  a 
former  leaper,  now  a 
saloon-keeper  at  Co- 
lumbus, when  with 
the  Cooper  &  Bailey 
Circus  at  Toledo,  in 
1860,  not  being  sat- 
isfied with  turning 
double  somersaults, 
tried  to  add  another 
revolution.  He 
turned  twice  and  a 
half,  alii^hting  on  the 
broad  of  his  back,  and  was  disabled  for  a  short  pe- 
riod. The  fiict  that  a  triple  somersault  was  ever  accom- 
plished before  a  circus  audience,  after  due  announce- 
ment, and  under  the  same  conditions  as  double  somer- 
saults are  performed  —  namely,  landing  on  a  mattress 
—  may  be  seriously  doubted.  The  best  informed  cir- 
cus men  say  that  it  cannot  be  done  with  anything  even 
like  comparative  safety  except  in  the  sheets,  a  blanket 
held  by  a  number  of  men  being  used  to  catch  the 
alighting  performer.  It  is  claimed,  also,  that  it  has 
never  beeen  accomplished  except  in  that  way. 


BICYCLE    RIDING    EXTRAOR- 
DINARY. 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 


AN   ADVENTURE    WITH    GIANTS. 

I  was  ill  the  office  of  the  old  Evening  Post,  at  St. 
Louis  one  afternoon  in  1879,  when  it  was  invaded  by 
Capt.  M.  V.  Bates  and  wife,  the  tallest  married  couple 
in  the  world.  They  were  travelling  with  Cole's  cir- 
cus, and  by  invitation  of  the  managing  editor,  who 
wanted  them  interviewed,  they  visited  the  newspaper 
office.  A  very  small  reporter  had  been  assigned  to  do 
the  talking,  and  he  waited  patient ly  around  the  estal)- 
lishment  until  a  carriage  drove  up  to  the  door  and  a 
shout  went  up,  "  Here  they  come,"  at  the  sound  of 
which  the  interviewer  hurriedly  made  for  the  waste- 
basket  which  was  under  the  table.  "Whether  the  jriant 
and  giantess  saw  the  diminutive  reporter  or  not  they 
kept  on  coming  in,  and  the  scribe  saw  no  other  way 
out  of  it  than  to  dive  into  the  ample  recesses  of  the 
basket,  and  nestle  upon  a  bed  of  school-girl  poetry, 
statesmen's  essays,  and  applications  from  last  year's 
and  the  coming  year's  college  graduates,  for  manag- 
ing editorship.  There  is  a  barbaric  sesquepcdalianism 
(which  is  a  good  long  word  to  ring  into  a  chapter  about 
six-storied  people)  and  a  prevailing  atmosphere  of 
suffocation  in  such  a  waste-basket ;  nevertheless,  the 
tiny  re2)orter  crouched  closer  as  the  Brobdignaggian 
people  approached  with  a  labble  that  noised  their  heels 
upon  the  iloor,  their  tongues  against  the  roofs  of  their 
mouths,  and  that  made  things  look  and  sound  as  if  all 
the  (piarreling  powers  of  Europe  had  set  their  com- 
(572) 


AN   ADVENTURE   WITH   GIANTS.  573 

bined  forces  clown  in  the  Evening  Post  office  for  the 
special  purpose  of  driving  tlie  senses  of  its  whole  staff 
out  through  the  top  of  the  building.     But  all  this  was 
seraphic  bliss  compared  with  the  awful  moment  when 
the  giant  captain  deliberately  sat  down  on  the  table 
just  over  the  waste-basket.     It  would  take  a  million 
horse-power  jackscrew,  I  should  think,  to  raise  the  fal- 
len hopes  of  the  reporter  just  then.     A  man  stands  some 
chance  if  a   custom-house  falls  on  him  hurriedly,  but 
chance  crushed  to  earth  never  rises  a2:ain,  when  a  ofiant 
like  this  is  threatening  to  make  any  easy-chair  out  of  him. 
I  suppose  nearly  everybody  has  heard  the  funny  story 
about  the  fat  woman  and  the  living  skeleton,  in  a  New 
York  museum,  who  fell  in  love  with  each  other.     They 
got  along  very  nicely  for  a  while,  and  were  as  affec- 
tionate as  if  the  two  had  pooled  their  issues  of  flesh, 
blood,  and  bone,  and  divided  up  so  that  each  tipped 
the  scale  at  two  hundred  and  sixty  pounds,  instead  of 
the  whale-like  spouse  tipping  the  scale  at  four  hundred 
and  ninety,  while  the  skeleton  husband  did  not  need 
any  more  than  a  thirty-pound  section  of  the  beam  to 
balance  his  weight.     They  were  as  happy  as  the  sweet- 
est of  the  singing  birds  until  one  day  the  husband  al- 
lowed his  heart  to  stray  off  to  the  Circassian  girl,  who 
had   been  orginally  born  in  Ireland,  but  had  her  hair 
curled  for  a  short  side-show  engagement.     Mr.  Skele- 
ton was  making  the  weightiest  kind  of  love  to  the  fair 
Circassian  for  probably  a  month  before  the  fat  woman 
was  made  aware  of  the  fact.     Then  the   monster  that 
is  usually  represented  as  green-eyed,  took  possession 
of  her.     She   kept  a  careful  vigil    of  all   "  Skin-and- 
bones'  "  doings,  as  she  called  him,  until  one  day  she 
found  him  during  the  noon  hour,  with  his  lean  arms 
around   the  Circassian  girl's   neck,   and  his  thin  lips 
glued  to  her  pouting  labials  of  cherry-red.     It  is  ira- 


574  AN   ADVENTURE    -WITH    GIANTS. 

possible  to  describe  the  terrible  manner  in  which  she 
swooped  down  upon  Mr.  Skeleton.  It  was  enough  to 
say  that  she  covered  space  with  alarming  rapidity,  and 
takiiigher  thirty-pound  husband  by  the  back  of  the  neck, 
shook  an  Irish  jig  out  of  his  rattling  bones,  after  which 
she  threw  him  on  the  floor  and  deliberately  sat  upon  him. 
The  vivacious  showman  who  told  this  story  said  a  mill- 
stone could  not  have  made  a  nicer  sheet  of  wall-paper 
out  of  the  living  skeleton,  had  one  fallen  on  him,  and 
only  for  the  buttons  on  his  vest  he  could  have  been 
pushed  tiirough  the  crack  under  the  door,  after  the  fat 
woman  jjot  throuMi  with  him.  But  to  come  back  to 
Capt.  Bates,  the  table  upon  which  he  had  seated  him- 
self groaned,  and  the  little  reporter  moaned.  The 
fleetini?  seconds  were  masruified  into  centuries,  and  the 
man  in  the  waste-basket  afterwards  told  me  that  he 
felt  himself  shrinking  into  somethinij:  like  a  homoeo- 
pathic  pill.  The  tal)le,  however,  appeared  to  stand  the 
pressure  a  great  deal  better  than  the  i)erson  under  it, 
and  it  was  sometime  before  the  latter  came  to  recon- 
cile himself  to  the  safety  of  his  situation.  When  he 
did  so  he  peeped  out. 

The  sight  that  met  his  gaze  was  a  curious  one. 
There  was  the  great  towering  giantess,  of  jjleasing 
features  and  Avith  nothinc^ofa  "  fcc-fo-fum  "  air  about 
her,  quietly  seated  in  the  editor's  chair,  taking  in  the 
situation  as  if  she  had  l)een  accustomed  to  the  thing 
since  Adam's  father  was  bald-headed.  And  there 
were  the  editors  and  news-hunters  gazing  on  admir- 
ingly, with  one  or  two  of  them  particularly  awe-stricken 
and  wild-eyed.  But  the  background  was  the  thing. 
It  was  a  circus  in  itself.  At  the  doors  and  windows, 
upon  tables  and  chairs,  and  perched  further  up  on  the 
top  of  an  inoffensive  and  weak  partition,  as  high  as  the 
giant  himself,  was  a  ghastly  array  of  gajjing  mouths  and 


AN   ADVENTURE   WITH   GIANTS.  575 

bursting  eyes  in  a  setting  of  eager  and  dirty  faces, — 
inside  and  out,  high  and  low,  anywhere  and  every- 
where around  the  institution  within  seeing  distance 
were  newsboys  and  boot-blacks  till  one  couldn't  rest; 
with  a  dim  and  distant  horizon  of  more  respectable 
visitors  who  had  been  tempted  in  by  the  unusual  scene 
and  noise.  After  the  usual  courtesies  had  been  inter- 
changed, the  editor  remarked  :  — 

"  I  had  a  young  fellow  assigned  to  interview  you, 
Captain,  but  I  don't  know  where  he  is  just  now." 

"Perhaps  he's  gone  to  git  an  extension  ladder," 
suggested  a  forward  newsboy. 

"  No,  Skinny,  "  said  another ;  "he  told  me  he  was 
going  to  get  old  Stout's  balloon." 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  commotion  under  the 
table.  The  giant's  foot  had  swung  back  and  collided 
with  the  waste-basket.  To  say  it  was  a  big  foot  would 
be  like  calling  the  pyramid  of  Cheops  a  brick-bat  or 
the  Colossus  of  Rhodes  an  Italian  plaster-cast.  They 
say  Chicago  girls  have  big  feet ;  I  don't  know  this  to 
be  a  fact,  but  if  they  have  anything  like  the  pedal 
spread  of  Captain  Bates  they  are  entitled  to  the  credit 
generally  given  them  of  greatness  in  this  way.  At  any 
rate  the  collision  between  the  foot  and  the  basket 
caused  the  recondite  reporter  to  disclose  his  where- 
abouts. The  managing  editor  qualified  his  conduct  as 
unbecoming  a  newspaper-man,  aud  the  giant  himself 
gently  requested  the  scribe  to  come  forward. 

"You  won't  make  a  watch-charm  out  of  me?" 
queried  the  reporter,  apprehensively. 

"  No,  no,"  the  giant  answered,  in  an  assuring  tone. 

"  Nor  a  scarf-pin?  " 

The  giant  said  he  wouldn't. 

This  allayed  the  reporter's  fears,  and  he  came  for- 
ward from  the  atmosphere  of  "  respectfully  declined  " 


576  AN   ADVENTURE    WITH    GIANTS. 

literature  in  which  ho  had  been.  Capt.  Bates's  greet- 
inir  was  most  kind,  and  so  was  that  of  his  wife.  The 
reporter  saw  at  once  there  had  been  no  necessity  for 
his  previous  timidity,  and  managing  to  get  within  a 
couple  of  yards  of  the  giant's  ear,  he  excused  his 
awkward  and  silly  actions.  A  pleasant  chat  followed, 
ill  which  the  giant  and  giantess  gave  brief  outlines 
of  their  personal  history. 

Capt.  Bates  is  now  (1879)  thirty-five  years  of  age, 
stands  seven  feet  eleven  and  one-half  inches  in  heiirht, 
and  Aveighs  about  four  hundred  and  eighty  pounds.  lie 
is  well  put  together,  handsome  in  features,  genial  in 
speech,  and  has  the  reputation  of  being  a  sharp, 
shrewd  man  of  the  world.  ]Mrs.  Bates  is  thirty-two 
years  old,  of  the  same  height  as  her  husband,  although 
she  really  seems  to  bo  taller,  and  turns  the  scales  at 
about  four  hundred  and  twenty  pounds.  She  is  thin- 
ner in  form,  but  of  excellent  physique,  is  handsome, 
and  has  the  same  frank  and  smiling  expression  on  her 
face  as  that  constantly  worn  by  her  husband.  She 
says  she  likes  the  show  business,  because  it  brings 
her  in  contact  with  so  many  persons.  The  Captain, 
though,  having  been  in  it  about  twelve  years,  and 
accumulated  considerable  means,  does  not  care  much 
about  parading  his  colossal  proportions  before  the 
public.  It  has  been  his  desire  of  late  years  to  live  in 
private,  quietly  on  his  farm  in  Ohio,  where  the  couple 
have  a  house  built  expressly  for  them,  with  doors,  win- 
dows, furniture,  etc.,  on  a  giant  scale;  but  until  this 
year  they  received  so  many  handsome  offers  that  they 
forsook  the  sod  for  the  sawdust,  and  the  plow  for  the 
platform.  In  ISSO,  I  think  it  was,  a  giant  child  was 
born  to  this  enormous  couple  The  infant  weiglied 
twenty-eight  pf)nnds  at  1)irth. 

After  listening  patiently  to  the  Captain  and  his  wife 


AN    ADVENTURE    WITH    GIANTS.  577 

as  they  spoke  of  themselves,  the  little  reporter  whom 
I  have  introduced  the  reader  to  alreadv,  sujjo-ested  as 
he  nearly  dislocated  his  neck  in  looking  up  at  the  lofty 
couple,  that  it  would  have  been  a  nice  thing  to  be 
around  when  they  were  making  love  to  each  other,  but 
Mrs.  Bates  said  that  was  rather  a  delicate  matter  to 
call  up,  and  the  reporter  subsided.  I  could  not  help 
thinking,  however,  that  a  fellow  must  feel  awful  queer 
with  four  hundred  and  odd  pounds  of  sweetheart  upon 
his  knee.  Himalayan  hugging  going  on  all  the  time, 
and  lovc-sio;hs  that  needed  a  Jacob's  ladder  to  come 
from  the  heart-depths  playing  above  his  head  like 
mountain  zephyrs  around  the  Pike's  Peak  signal  ser- 
vice station.  And  then  when  a  fellow  felt  his  love 
away  down  in  his  boots,  what  an  Atlantic  cable  job  it 
must  have  been  to  find  out  exactly  where  it  was  !  And 
the  old  garden  gate,  how  it  must  have  been  like  the 
gates  that  brave  Samson  shouldered  with  probably  a 
little  extra  bracing  to  it.  And  what  chewing-gum 
swopping  nmst  have  gone-  on,  and  ice  cream  eating, 
})crhaps  a  plate  as  large  as  a  Northland  yoA'eZ  at  a  time, 
and  no  two  spoons  in  it,  either?  Oh,  but  it  must  have 
been  a  heavenly  thing  ! 

"You  weren't  afraid  of  her  big  brother.  Captain, 
were  you?  "  friendly  interrogated  the  reporter, 

*'  Oh,  no  ;  not  at  all,"  answered  the  Captain.  - 

"  If  you  sat  down  on  him  once  you  could  have  sold 
him  for  a  bundle  of  tissue  paper,  couldn't  you?  " 

"  That  is  not  it,  my  boy,"  said  the  Captain.  "  She 
didn't  have  any  big  brother." 

'*  Oh,  yes,  I  see." 

Then  the  discourse  turned  into  other  channels,  in- 
tended to  be  of  special  interest  to  splacmucks  —  as 
the  Brobdignaggians  called  ordinary  mortals  —  who 
are  contemplating  marriage  with  giantesses. 


578  AN   ADVENTUKE   WITH    GIANTS. 

**  I  suppose  Mrs.  Bates  does  not  wield  an  ordinary 
rolling-pill?"  the  reporter  half  queried,  addressing 
himself  to  Capt.  Bates. 

*♦  No,  indeed,"  the  lady  herself  replied,  laughingly. 
*'  I  have  one  made  expressly  for  my  own  use,  from 
one  of  the  largest  of  the  Yosemitc  Valley  trees." 

"And  you  lay  it  on  the  old  man  now  and  then?" 
the  reporter  asked. 

"  I  can  answer  for  that,"  put  in  the  Captain.  "  She 
sometimes  brings  it  down  so  heavily  on  the  rear  eleva- 
tion of  my  skull  that  it  feels  as  if  I  had  run  against  a 
pile-driver  on  a  drunk  or  lost  my  way  under  the  h;im- 
mers  of  a  quartz  mill." 

Mrs.  Bates  certainly  had  the  physical  strength  to 
make  a  rolling-pin  dance  a  lively  jig  in  any  direction, 
and  if  the  weapon  is  anything  at  all  like  what  it  is  here 
represented  to  be,  Thor's  celebrated  hammer  -will  have 
to  go  to  the  hospital  as  a  weak  and  debilitated  concern 
until  the  gi<iiits  lay  their  domestic  difficulties  aside  and 
retire  permanently  from  active  service. 

•'  It  miist  be  a  gigantic  thing  'svhcn  the  Captain  comes 
home  late  at  night,  from  the  lodge,  you  know,  falls 
through  the  kitchen  window  into  a  pan  of  dishes,  and 
after  stumbling  up  stairs  goes  to  bed  with  his  boots 
on?"  the  reporter  insinuated,  as  he  looked  sorrow- 
fully at  the  giantess. 

"  Oh,  he  never  docs  that,"  said  tiic  lady  ;  and  after 
a  minute  she  added,  "  and  he'd  better  not." 

The  giantess  looked  knowingly  at  the  giant  who  looked 
down  at  the  floor.  My  thoughts  wreathed  themselves 
fondly  around  the  Yosemite-tree  rolling-pin,  and  I  guess 
Capt.  Bates's  thoughts  were  turned  in  the  same  direc- 
tion. 

"Nobody  ever  dares  to  write  billet-doux  to  Mrs. 
Bates,"   said  the  reporter.      "  I    suppose  you  know 


AN    ADVENTURE    AVITII    GIANTS. 


579 


circus  and  theatrical  people  are  subject  to  that  sort  of 

thillir.  " 

"  Not  any  body  that  I  know  of,  "  the  Captain  an- 
swered. 

"  And  I  suppose  if  anybodydid  they  wouldn't  care 
about     having    you 
know  it,  either?  said 
the     little    Evening 
Post  man. 

The  Captain  made 
no  reply,  but  a  mys- 
terious kind  of  look 
crowded  into  his   |i 
eyes,  and  if  anybody    B 
around  the  newspa-   g^ 
per  office  had  dared   =^^ 
to  entertain  a  spark   i^ 
of  affection  for  the 
giantess  he  could  see 
at  once  that  he  didn't 
stand  the  ghost  of  a 
show  while  the  giant 
was  around. 

"Now,  Captain," 
the  tiny  and  timid 
reporter  remarked, 
moving  to  a  distance, 
"I  know  you  like 
travelling, and  I  have 
one  more  q[uestion  I 
would    like   to    ask 

you.    It  is  about  ho-  _ 

tel  accommodations.  giantess. 

Don't  jou  occasionally  have  to  hang  your  head  or  feet 


580 


AN    ADVKNTUUi:    WITH    GIANTS. 


over  the  cmls  of  of  the  beds  you  encounter?  " 

This  question  disgusted  the  Captain  and  he  rose 
from  the  table  indignantly,  as  did  Mrs.  Bates  from  the 
editorial   chair,  and  doubling  themselves  up  as  they 

reached  the  doorway 


they  majestically 
s  w  e  p  t  out  of  the 
news[)aper  office,  and 
stepping  into  their 
carriage  were  driven 
away. 

Another  notable 
ir  i  a  n  t  is  Colonel 
Routh  Goshan,  who 
was  born  in  the  city 
of  Jerusalem,  on  the 
.'>tli  day  of  Ma}',  '37, 
of  Arabian  parents. 
Ho  is  the  youngest 
of  a  family  of  15 
children,  who  like 
himself,  father  and 
mother  were  all  gi- 
ants, lie  served 
with  distinction  in 
the  Crimean  war, 
niid  aflcrwards  in  the 
Mexican  army. 

Colonel  Goshen 
stands?  feet  1 1  inch- 
es in  his  stocking 
feet,  and  measures 
75  inches  jnonnd  the  chest,  25  inches  around  the  arm, 
and  wears  a  'So.  1  1  siioc.      I  lis  ^vcight  is  (JHG  pounds. 


^ 


GIANT. 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 


THE    *'  TATTOOED    TWINS." 


WANTED  —The  address  of  some  one  who  can  tattoo  with  Indian  ink  on  the 
person.    A.  J.  H.,  No. , th  Street. 

This  advertisement  appeared  in  a  St.  Louis  Sunday 
morning  paper.  The  number  and  the  street  are  not 
given  for  reasons  that  will  at  once  present  themselves  to 
every  intelligent  reader.  Now  there  is  sometimes  that 
in  an  advertisement  which  atti-acts  one  like  a  pretty  girl. 
A  few  lines  may  furnish  a  neat  little  intellectual  flirta- 
tion, and  very  frequently  can,  like  a  coy  and  pretty 
maiden,  keep  coaxing  a  fellow  along  until  he  is  per- 
fectly lost  in  the  maze  of  an  aflectiou  that  he  has 
neither  the  tact  nor  the  willingness  to  try  to  escape 
from.  As  soon  as  my  eyes  lit  upon  them  and  the 
words  from  the  capital  W  in  the  beginning  to  the  pe- 
riod at  the  end  were  taken  in,  I  was  irrevocably  gone 
on  them.  Like  the  immortal  J.  N.,  I  immediately 
lifted  the  veil  and  looked  at  the  suppositious  sanctuary 
behind  it,  and  then  saw  that  walking  art  gallery,  Capt. 
Costentenus — known  to  thousands  of  people  who  saw 
him  travelling  as  the  tatooed  man  —  lying  bound  hand 
and  foot  upon  the  earth  and  surrounded  by  half  a  dozeq 
Chinese  Tartars,  who  were  industriously  pricking  him 
with  pointed  instruments,  which  were  ever  and  anon 
dipped  into  the  little  basins  of  blackish-blue  liquid. 
The  scene  changed    suddenly  into  a  room  at  No.  — 

th  Street,  and  the  Tartars  were  metamorphosed 

into  a  single  individual  of  a  decidedly  Caucasian  aspect, 

(581) 


582  THE   TATTOOED   T\riNS. 

but  with  features  wrought  in  that  indistinctness  which 
very  frequently  is  eh:iracteristic  of  the  shapes  and 
forms  seen  in  waking  dreams,  and  the  Greek  Captain 
was  rephiccd  by  an  equally  Caucasian  subject,  who  was 
quietly  undergoing  the  operations  of  having  his  breast 
tattooed  in  the  most  hivish  and  picturesque  manner  that 
the  artist  knew  how.  This  idea  fastened  itself  in  my 
mind  to  such  an  extraordinary  extent  that  merely  for 
the  purpose  of  gratifying  a  certain  instinctive  curi- 
osity, as  well  as  to  see  if  my  suppositions  were  cor- 
rect, I  called  at  the  house  indicated  next  afternoon. 

It  was  a  large  three-story  boarding-house  in  a  very 
quiet  part  of  the  city,  and  situated  romantically 
enough  to  lend  the  coloring  of  fact  to  the  picture  I 
had  previously  conjured  up  of  the  surroundings  of  the 

jrcntleman  who  wanted  to  be  tattooed, 
c 

A  young  girl  opened  the  door,  who  knew  nothing  of 
the  person  who  owned  the  initials  that  appeared  in  the 
advertisement.  I  explained  that  this  was  the  number 
and  street  —  it  .was  certainly  the  right  house  —  and 
couldn't  she  recollect  some  name  that  besran  with  an 
H.  No,  she  could  not.  She  did  not  think  there  was 
any  gentleman  boarding  in  the  house  whose  name  be- 
gan with  an  II,  and  then  she  recollected  that  there 
had  come  to  the  house  a  few  days  before  a  man  whose 
name  she  did  not  know.  She  would  call  her  mother. 
"Ma!  oh,  ma!"  rang  down  through  the  hallway, 
and  around  behind  tiie  staircase,  and  down  into  the 
dining-room,  and  up  came  the  assuring  response, 
"  I'll  be  there  in  a  minute."  Enter  the  landlady  with 
a  wet  towel  on  her  head,  and  wiping  her  fingers  on  the 
corner  of  her  apron.  In  answer  to  the  daughter's  query 
as  to  what  the  "  new  gentleman's  "  name  was,  she  re- 
plied, as  if  she  had  known  him  since  the  corner-stouo 
of  Cheops    was    laid,  that  he    was    Mr.    Ilenneberry. 


THE    TATTOOED    TWINS.  583 

Was  he  in?  No,  not  just  then,  but  he  wouUl  be  back 
in  time  for  dinner,  which  would  be  spread  in  al)outhalf 
an  hour.  Somewhat  disappointed  I  replied  that  I 
Avoukl  take  a  walk  around  and  call  at  the  end  of  the 
half  hour,  and  was  about  to  leave  the  door  when  a 
voice  was  heard  on  the  upper  landing,  and  the  words 
"  Hold  on  !  "  shouted  in  a  very  peremptory  manner 
brought  me  to  a  halt.  It  was  Mr.  Henneberry,  as  I 
soon  ascertained,  when  a  tall,  stout,  well-proportioned 
gentleman,  of  handsome  features  and  the  prettiest 
black  hair  my  eyes  ever  gazed  upon,  came  down,  in- 
troduced himself,  and  invited  me  in.  The  object  of 
the  visit  Avas  explained  in  a  few  words. 

"  Well,-'  said  Mr.  Henneberry,  "  I've  been  just 
talking  to  a  gentleman  up  in  my  room,  an  old  sailor, 
who  was  crippled  some  years  ago,  by  falling  from  the 
spar  of  a  South  American  sailer,  so  he  says,  and  who 
appears  to  be  pretty  expert.  I  rather  like  the  man, 
and  I  think  he  Avill  about  suit  me.  He  needs  money, 
what  you  don't  appear  to  do,  and  I  think  he  is  just  the 
very  man  for  what  I  want.  So  you  see,  I  think  you're 
a  little  late." 

I  expressed  my  regret  at  not  having  seen  the  adver- 
tisement earlier. 

"You  see,"  continued  Mr.  Henneberry,  "I  want 
somebody  who  will  stay  in  the  house  here,  and  be 
available  at  all  times  during  the  day.  It's  a  pretty 
long  job — "  and  here  he  checked  himself.  "No,  I 
don't  mean  a  long  job,  because  there  ain't  much  of  it, 
but  what  there  is  has  got  to  be  done  neat  and  right  up 
to  the  handle.     What  sort  of  work  can  you  do?  " 

I  bared  my  arm  and  exhibited  a  large  death-head 
and  cross-bones,  an  American  eagle,  and  a  bust  of 
George  Washington,  which  I  had  tattooed  into  me, 
when  young  and  fond  and  foolish,  by  a  Greek  sailor  I 
met  in  Milwaukee. 


584  THE   TATTOOED    TWINS. 

*'  That's  pretty  good,"  said  Henneberry.  "  Where 
did  you  learn  the  business  —  if  I  might  call  it  a  busi- 
ness?" 

Here  I  explained  that  an  old  sail-maker  had  taught 
me  the  art  and  that,  having  aequired  the  modus  oper- 
andi of  pricking  the  color  into  the  flesh,  I  was  perfectly 
at  home  in  the  business,  as  I  was  also  an  experienced 
sketch  er. 

Further  talk  followed,  in  which  Mr.  Henneberry 
spoke  of  tattooing  generally,  but  made  no  allusion  to 
the  person  to  be  tattooed  nor  the  extent  of  the  work  to 
be  done.  At  last,  as  he  rose  from  his  chair,  as  a  gentle 
reminder  that  he  had  said  about  all  he  wanted  to  say, 
remarked  that  I  might  call  again,  as  lie  had  yet  made 
no  detinitc  arrangement  with  the  man  up-stairs  and 
probably  would  need  two. 

I  went  off  chagrined,  and  wished  that  the  old  salt 
with  the  broken  leg,  who  had  gotten  in  ahead  of  me 
had  broken  his  neck  when  he  fell  from  the  spar  of  that 
South  American  sailer.  I  left  the  door  whistlmg,  "We 
Parted  by  the  River  Side." 

A  saunter  into  a  shady  spot  at  a  safe  distance  from 
the  house,  and  a  mind  made  up  to  await  the  outcoming 
of  tiio  successful  rival,  were  the  results  of  a  sudden 
insi)iration.  An  hour  passed,  a  half  more,  three 
quarters,  and  it  was  just  about  an  even  couple  of  hours 
when  out  from  the  door  of  No.  — ,  — th  Street,  limi)ed 
a  middle-aged,  bent  man,  and  he  came  directly  towards 
me.  He  passed  me  by,  for  about  half  a  block,  when  I 
caught  up,  and  introduced  the  opening  wedge  of  con- 
versation by  remarking  that  the  weather  was  a  little 
cooler  than  folks  around  there  had  been  used  to  for  the 
past  month  or  so. 

"Well,  yes,"  was  the  reply,  "  but  I  don't  mind  it 
so  much.  You  see  I've  hove  to  in  hotter  })orts  than 
this'll  ever   be.     That    sui-troke    period    was    Injun 


THE   TATTOOED   TWINS.  585 

summer  compared  with  the  brimstun  climate  I've 
pulled  through.  I've  been  along  the  African  coast 
when  it  was  hot  enough  to  make  a  mill-stun  sweat.  If 
they  could  have  just  shipped  that  weather  North  it 
would  thaw  the  North  Pole  into  hot  water  inside  of  fif- 
teen minutes." 

And  then  the  crippled  sailor  told  of  other  experi- 
ences in  other  warm  climates,  and  we  talked  on  in 
an  easy,  friendly  way  for  three  or  four  blocks,  when 
my  companion  remarked  that  he  was  going  to  take  the 
cars.  I  said  I  was  going  to  do  the  same,  and  as  soon 
as  we  were  seated  on  the  shady  side  of  the  conveyance 
I  remarked  in  a  careless,  off-hand  way :  — 

"  You  got  ahead  of  me  in  that  job  down  at  Henne- 
berry's,  old  man."         • 

He  opened  his  eyes,  looked  at  me  half  suspiciously, 
and  said:  "Then  you're  the  young  man  the  gentle- 
man was  talking  about  to  me.  You  went  to  see  him, 
this  afternoon  ?' ' 

An  affirmative  was  the  answer. 

"  Well,  you  needn't  be  so  put  out.  He  ain't  en- 
gaged nobody  yet.  At  least  he  ain't  closed  with  me. 
You  see,  he's  a  bit  scary.  Didn't  he  tell  you  what  he 
wanted  ? ' ' 

*'  Yes.  At  least,  he  left  me  to  infer  that  he  wanted 
either  himself  or  somebody  else  tattooed." 

"All  over?" 

"  I  thought  that  was  what  he  meant." 

"  Well,  blast  his  jib  !  He  made  me  make  all  sorts 
o'  promises  not  to  open  my  port-hole  about  it." 

"  It  is  a  very  funny  project,  isn't  it?  "  asked  the  re- 
porter. 

"Oh,  no,  not  at  all.  I've  been  at  it  afore.  I 
worked  at  a  man  up  in  Canada  for  about  three  months 
and  got  him  nigh  half  done,  when  he  died." 


580  TIIK   TATTOOED   TWINS. 

"It's  ji  pretty  dangerous  operation,  this  tattooing?  " 
was  the  next  gentle  insinuation. 

"Yes,  sometimes.  But  IIennc1)crry  can  stand  it. 
He  looks  as  if  he  had  the  constitution  and  he  appears 
to  be  reckless  of  the  consequences.  He  wants  to  bo  a 
show-fellow.  He's  struck  on  it,  just  the  same  as  that 
Canada  chap  who  kicked.  He's  got  an  idea  that 
there's  money  in  it,  and  he's  always  talkin'  about  that 
Grecian  chap  as  is  with  the  circuses,  you  know." 

"  How  long  will  it  take  to  do  the  job?  " 

"Well,  that  I  don't  exactly  know.  He  talks  of 
havin'  two  of  us  at  it.  ]\Iaybe  you're  the  other  fellow, 
and  he's  in  a  stormy  hurry  al)out  havin'  it  finished  up, 
and  wants  a  fellow  to  stay  in  the  house  with  him  all 
the  time  so  that  he  can  take  his  tattooini;  just  when  he 
feels  like  it.  Are  you  good  in  drawin'  dragoons,  ilyin' 
fish,  elephants,  boey  constrictors  and  sich,  young 
man?" 

I  replied  that  I  was  an  adept  in  delineating  animals 
of  the  sort  named. 

"Then  I  guess  he'll  want  you.  I  used  to  be  a 
pretty  good  drawer  myself  afore  I  fell  fi-om  that  South 
American,  but  my  hand  shakes  no  little  now  ;  l)nt  you 
just  lay  the  lines,  and  if  I  don't  stick  'em  in  as  clean 
as  a  copper  }jlate,  my  name  ain't  Jack  Hogan." 

"  What  will  he  pay  for  the  job?  " 

"Well,  I  asked  $(;()()  calc'latin'  six  months  would 
do  it,  but  he  brought  me  down  to  $if)0  and  will  pay 
my  l)oard  and  lodgiiT.     That  ain't  l)ad." 

The  reporter  coincided  witJi  Jack  Hogan  that  it 
appeared  to  be  a  pretty  good  thing. 

"And  you  don't  git  your  money  down  cither.  He 
wants  to  be  fixed  up  from  the  soles  of  his  feet  to  near  his 
shirt  collar  and  wristbands,  in  the  house  where  he  is 
now,  and   then   he's  goin'  oil'  to  some  quiet  spot  and 


THE   TATTOOED   TWINS.  587 

have  his  face  and  hands  and  even  his  ears  and  the  top 
of  his  head,  for  he's  partly  bald,  done  up  in  some  place 
in  the  country,  or  may  be  out  in  some  of  the  Pacific 
islands,  and  if  it's  a  bargain  between  us  I'll  have  to  go 
with  him." 

«'  What  catches  me,"  said  I,  as  we  got  up  to  leave 
the  car,  *'  is  what  Henneberry  will  do  with  himself  when 
the  finishing  touches  are  all  put  on  him." 

«'  I  can't  say,  but  I  s'pose  he'll  go  off  to  the  Sand- 
wich Islands,  marry  a  nigger  squaw,  or  something  of 
that  sort,  and  come  back  with  a  cock-and-bull  story 
about  being  captured  by  savages,  and  then  swing 
'round  the  circle  with  some  circus  or  other.  He's  got 
the  money  to  push  the  thing  through,  and  I  believe  he 
can  stand  it.  Maybe  he'll  travel  with  old  Cos'tenus, 
and  they'll  call  themselves  the  tattooed  twins." 

And  the  old  fellow  laughed  heartily  as  he  got  down 
carefully  from  the  platform  of  the  car,  and  limped 
away  towards  the  river — perhaps  down  to  the  Bethel 
Home  on  the  levee. 

The  foregoing  story  may  be  regarded  as  quite  a  val- 
uable clue  when  associated  with  a  piece  of  information 
furnished  by  an  Albany,  New  York,  journal,  whose  re- 
porter says  the  work  on  Capt.  Costentenus's  body  pales 
when  compared  with  that  shown  by  a  young  man  who 
stopped  over  in  Albany  one  evening  last  summer  on 
his  way  from  Saratoga  to  his  home  in  Syracuse.  His 
name  is  Henry  Frumell,  and  he  is  but  twenty-three 
years  of  age.  Although  so  young,  he  has,  according 
to  his  own  story,  seen  considerable  of  life.  In  1876 
he  ran  away  from  home,  shipped  on  a  merchant  vessel 
which  was  trading  among  the  Washington  Islands  in 
South  Pacific.  While  there  he  underwent  the  tattoo- 
ing process,  which  he  described  as  the  most  painful 
torture  ever  endured. 


588  THE   TATTOOED   TWINS. 

"  IIow  was  it  done,  and  by  whom?  "  ho  was  asked 
by  a  reporter. 

"  By  the  natives,  and  with  six  needles  fastened  to  a 
stick.  Do  you  see  them  (showing  the  backs  of  his 
hands  and  wrists)?  There  is  a  lady's  face  on  one  and 
a  man's  on  the  other.  Vermilion  red  and  indigo  blue 
were  used,  being  pricked  in  with  the  needles.  Now  you 
see  that  the  work  is  executed  just  as  neatly  and  per- 
fectly as  it  could  possibly  ])e  on  the  human  skin. 
Well,  it  took  weeks  before  the  design  was  finished, 
and  it  had  to  be  pricked  over  a  number  of  times." 

*'  It  must  have  been  painful." 

"  It  was.  But  then  I  had  no  choice  but  to  sub- 
mit." 

"  Why,  were  you  compelled  to  undergo  the  tattoo- 
ing?" 

"  Hardly  that,  but  it  was  wiser  to  do  so." 

"IIow  could  natives  execute  the  work  so  per- 
fectly?" 

"  They  used  designs  given  them  by  a  sailor  named 
John  Wells,  who  belonged  to  an  English  vessel. 
Those  on  my  wrist  are  not  so  i)erfect  as  on  other  por- 
tions of  my  body." 

"  Did  they  tattoo  you  all  over?  " 

"All  except  a  small  portion  of  the  left  leg  above  the 
ankle." 

The  designs  so  ineffaceably  worked  into  Frumell's 
skin  arc  numerous  and  beautiful,  and  some  of  them  so 
appropriate  to  the  young  man's  nationality  that  it  is 
difficult  to  imagine  how  a  South  Pacific  savage,  even 
with  an  English  sailor  for  an  advisor,  should  have  se- 
lected such  fitting  pictures.  On  his  back,  extending 
from  shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  from  the  nape  of  the 
neck  downward  was  a  spirited  illustration  of  two  ships 
in  action.     Below  it  is  a  snake  with  protruding  fangs 


THE   TATTOOED    TWINS.  589 

and  a  scroll  with  Paul  Jones's  motto,  "  Don't  tread  on 
me."  On  his  breast  is  the  national  coat  of  arms 
worked  on  the  breast  of  an  American  eagle  with 
pinions  outspread,  and  the  national  colors  in  its  beak. 
This  covers  the  entire  breast  from  armpit  to  armpit, 
and  from  the  throat  downward.  Both  arms  are  liter- 
ally covered  with  designs  of  beasts,  birds,  and  flowers. 
The  lower  limbs  are  also  ornamented,  one  with  the 
*'  Crucifixion  of  Christ  "  and  the  other  with  the  sham- 
rock, harp  of  Erin,  and  other  designs.  Each  knee- 
cap looks  like  a  full-blown  rose,  with  its  vivid  coloring 
and  almost  perfect  imitation  of  that  flower.  The  re- 
mainder of  his  body  is  similarly  decorated,  over  five 
months  being  occupied  in  the  process,  and  consider- 
able more  time  being  occupied  in  healing.  His  skin 
has  the  feeling  of  the  finest  velvet,  and  he  says  that  he 
does  not  experience  any  evil  effects  from  the  immense 
quantity  of  poisonous  dye  injected  into  the  cuticle. 
He  has  tried  to  eradicate  the  designs  on  his  hands  by 
burninfi:,  but  without  avail. 


CHAPTER     XLV. 


IN    THE    MENAGERIE. 

Before  cnterinjr  the  menao^crlc  let  us  look  at  the 
huire  cimiioii  standiiiiji:  here  outside  the  dressin^^-tent. 
It  looks  like  a  ponderous  affair,  but  investigation  shows 
that  it  is  made  of  wood.  There  is  a  latitudinal  slit 
at  the  lower  end  and  a  lever.  It  requires  an  effort  to 
push  the  lever  back  which  indicates  that  there  is  a 
pretty  strong  spring  in  the  bottom  of  the  cannon. 
This  is  the  piece  of  ordnance  that  Zazel  is  shot  out  of 
into  a  uet  some  distance  away.  She  lies  on  her  back  in 
the  cannon,  which  is  tilted  to  an  angle  of  al)out  forty- 
five  dcirrees,  assumes  a  rijjid  position,  and  at  the  word 
fire  the  lever  is  pulled  back,  the  spring  released,  a 
pistol  is  fired,  and  while  Zazel  is  coming  through  the 
air  a  little  cloud  of  smoke  rolls  from  the  cannon's 
mouth  and  is  swept  away  almost  l)efore  she  lands  on 
her  back  in  the  net.  Sig.  Farini  says  Zazel  is  his 
daughter.  Barnum  savs  that  when  he  was  in  London 
where  Zazel  was  doing  the  cannon  act,  creating  a 
great  furore,  the  pretty  little  French  girl  c.inio  to  him 
crying  and  asked  to  bo  taken  away.  She  was  only 
irettinir  about  six  dolhirs  a  week  for  the  perilous  work 
she  was  doing  and  Farini  was  (bawing  a  large  salary 
out  of  wliich  she  got  this  pittance. 

SiiT.  Farini  also  owns  the  Znlns  that  have  appeared 
here.  As  their  manager  he  is  well  paid  for  them,  and 
as  the  Zulus  sh'('[)  in  the  menagerie  tent  and  have  but 
few  wants  and  he  gives  them  about  a  dollar  a  day  — 

(590) 


IN   THE   MENAGERIE.  591 

SO  Barnum  says  —  Cetawayo's  subjects  are  a  profitable 
investment  for  him.  Zulu  Charley  on  exhibition  in 
New  York  gets  the  magnificent  sum  of  one  dollar  a  day 
for  doing  his  native  war-dance  and  standing  fire  under 
the  numerous  eyes  that  are  leveled  at  him  daily. 
There  is  a  bit  of  romance  about  this  black  warrior. 
Amono;  the  crowds  who  thron2:ed  to  see  the  antics  of 
the  Zulus  at  Bunnell's  Dime  Museum,  New  York  City, 
last  winter,  was  an  Italian  girl  named  Anita  G.  Corsini, 
eighteen  years  old,  a  music  teacher  by  occupation,  and 
the  daughter  of  a  Mr.  Corsini  who  is  in  business  in 
New  York.  Zulu  Charley  won  her  admiration  and 
love,  and  she  spent  many  quarters  from  her  hard-earned 
savings  to  see  the  dusky  object  of  her  affections. 
Charlie  did  not  repel  her  affections  and  they  swore  to 
be  true  to  each  other.  Mr.  Corsini,  however,  did  not 
regard  with  favor  the  prospect  of  a  marriage  between 
his  dausfhter  and  a  negro,  and  did  evervthing  in  his 
power  to  dissuade  her  from  carrying  out  her  inten- 
tion. Last  week,  however,  the  couple  eloped,  but 
while  on  their  way  to  a  minister's  house  they  were  ar- 
rested at  the  instance  of  Anita's  father. 

When  the  case  came  up  on  the  following  morning  in 
the  Jefferson  Market  court  the  father  wanted  to  have 
the  girl  sent  to  Blackwell's  Island,  but  upon  her 
promise  to  obey  him  and  leave  the  Zulu  he  changed 
his  mind  and  took  her  home.  But  she  again  met 
Charley  and,  accompanied  by  another  Zulu  named 
Usikali,  and  Charles  Richards,  a  white  man,  they  went 
to  the  residence  of  the  Rev.  R.  O.  Page,  Brooklyn, 
and  asked  to  be  married.  The  minister  consented, 
but  he  seems  to  have  made  a  mistake,  addressing 
all  the  questions  to  Usikali  instead  of  to  Charley, 
and  then  pronounced  them  man  and  wife.  On  learn- 
ing  his    mistake,    however,    he    performed     another 


592  IN   THE   MENAGERIE. 

ceremony  l)ctwccn  the  right  parties.  The  newly  mar- 
ried couple  then  went  to  the  museum,  where  the 
bridegroom  took  part  in  the  usual  Zulu  war-dance. 

The  tattooed  Greek  Costentenus  Avith  his  picture- 
covered  flesh  is  always  an  ol)ject  of  admiration  to  the 
ladies.  He  says  he  was  tattooed  into  his  present 
shape  by  Chinese  Tartars  and  tells  a  harrowing  story 
of  his  sufTerinss. 

The  torturing  doesn't  seem  to  have  impaired  his 
health  or  bothered  his  ai)petite  any.  He  is  a  magnifi- 
cent looking  man  physically  and  in  his  unstripped  con- 
dition is  a  figure  that  the  eye  of  an  artist  would  de- 
light to  dwell  u[)on.  His  only  rival  is  a  lady  who 
is  now  on  exhil)ition  in  England  and  whose  breast 
and  upper  and  lower  linil)s  are  covered  with  tattoo- 
ing. I  do  not  know  her  history,  but  she  probably 
submitted  to  the  process  to  make  money  out  of 
it.  Dr.  Lacassagne,  a  French  physician,  has  pub- 
lished a  book  on  the  habit  of  tattooing  as 
practised  in  the  French  army.  Tliere  are  profes- 
sional tattooers  in  Paris  and  Lyons  who  charge  half  a 
franc  for  each  design.  Generally  the  tattooer  has  car- 
toons on  paper  and  reproduces  these  on  the  skin  by  a 
mechanical  i)rocess.  Large  designs  cost  a  good  deal  ; 
a  big  representation  of  an  Indian  holding  up  the  flag 
of  the  United  States  costs  the  decorated  person  fif- 
teen francs.  China  ink  is  the  coloring  substance  pre- 
ferred, touched  up  with  vermilion.  Dr.  Lacassagne 
has  collected  one  thousand  throe  luuidnKl  and  thirty- 
three  designs,  tattooed  on  three  hundred  and  seventy- 
ciirht  members  of  the  Second  African  Battalion  or  on  men 
imder  arrest  in  military  j)risons.  Many  were  tattooed 
on  every  part  of  the  body  except  the  inner  side  of  the 
thighs.  Patriotic  and  religious  designs  and  inscrip- 
tions amounted  to  ninety-one.     There  were  two  hun- 


IN  THE    MENAGERIE.  593 

dred  and  eii^hty  amorous  and  erotic  devices  and  three 
hundred  and  forty-four  works  of  pure  fantasy,  such 
as  ladies  driving  in  a  carriage,  the  horses  plunging  and 
servants  rushing  to  their  heads.  The  great  efforts  of 
art  are  reserved  for  the  surfaces  of  the  breast  and 
back.  The  subjects  of  many  of  the  drawings  are  best 
left  undescribed,  the  imagination  of  a  dissipated  sol- 
dier being  quite  savage  in  its  purity.  Among  pa- 
triotic and  religious  emblems  are  cited  two  devils,  nine 
theological  virtues,  six  crucifixes,  two  sisters  of  char- 
ity, three  heads  of  Prussians,  not  flattered,  and  five 
portraits  of  ideal  girls  of  Alsace,  with  no  fewer  than 
thirty-four  busts  of  the  republic.  Among  animals  the 
lion  and  the  serpent  are  the  favorite  totems.  Among 
flowers  the  pansy  is  generally  preferred.  The  sesthetic 
classes  will  be  grieved  to  hear  that  not  a  single  lily  a^3- 
pears,  and  there  was  only  one  daisy.  Among  myth- 
ological subjects  the  sirens  are  the  greatest  favorites  ; 
next  comes  Bacchus  with  his  pards,  Venus,  Apollo  and 
Cupid. 

Gen.  Tom  Thumb  and  his  agreeable  little  wife  are 
once  more  swiniring  around  the  sawdust  circle  with 
their  old  friend  Barnum.  Gen.  Thumb  is  the  most 
successful  dwarf  the  world  has  ever  seen.  He  is  rich 
and  as  happy  as  if  he  and  his  wife  were  as  tall  as 
Captain  and  Mrs.  Bates,  the  giant  and  giantess  whose 
immense  forms  loom  up  above  the  crowds  that  throng 
the  menagerie  tent.  I  have  written  elsewhere  about 
captain  and  his  wife. 

"Tummy  T'um  is  ze  worst  blufi"  at  pokair  I  ever 
saw,"  said  Campanini  one  day,  in  a  confidential  mood  ; 
"  I  ride  wiz  heem  in  sefenty-seex  from  Pittsburg  to 
Veeling,  and  he  loose  me  elefen  dollars  on  a  pair  of 
deuces.  Ze  Generale  is  a  bad  man  at  ze  national 
game." 


594  IX   TIIK    MENAOEIIIE. 

Campanini,  it  is  well  known,  is  exceedingly  economi- 
cal, and  the  loss  of  eleven  dollars  he  gulped  down  as 
well  as  he  could,  sinking  it  away  below  the  region  of 
his  lower  rejjistcr.  It  was  a  misfortune  he  will  never 
1)C  able  to  forget  entirely,  but  General  Thomas  Thumb 
is  a  perfect  basilisk  to  the  distinguished  tenor.  When- 
ever their  shows  exhibit  in  the  same  town  the  singer 
looks  up  the  dwarf  and  challenges  him  to  a  game  of 
chance.  They  last  met  in  St.  Louis,  a  short  time 
before  Campanini's  departure  for  Europe,  and  oddly 
enough  they  settled  on  a  game  of  billiards,  although 
probably  for  prudential  reasons  on  Campanini's 
part,  as  it  was  impossible  for  Tom  Thumb  to  win  such 
a  disastrous  sum  as  eleven  dollars  from  the  Italian  at 
that  manly  game. 

The  game  took  place  in  the  principal  billiard-room  of 
St.  Louis,  and  it  was  rendered  doubly  interesting  l)y  the 
fact  that  Charles  Maplcson,  faultlessly  attired,  kept 
the  talley.  A  great  crowd  was  soon  attracted  into  the 
room,  and  the  only  regret  of  the  two  distinguished 
players  was  that  they  had  not  charged  a  general 
admission,  reserved  seats  extra. 

As  the  game  proceded  Campanini  grew  excited,  and 
the  sonorous  notes  of  his  full,  rich  voice  resounded 
through  the  corridors  of  the  great  hotel.  This,  in 
turn,  irritated  the  General,  and  his  weak,  })iping  tones, 
with  a  tinge  of  anger  in  them,  contrasted  .strangely 
with  the  Italian's.  The  crowd  laughed,  and  Cam- 
panini unconsciously  exhibited  some  of  tiie  richest 
treasures  of  his  stock-in-trade,  while  the  General  grew 
desperate  and  absolutely  tried  to  reach  across  the 
table. 

♦'  Fcfteen,"  shouted  Campanini. 

Failing  in  his  first  etfort,  the  General  again  tried  to 
accomplish  the  impossible. 


IN   THE   MENAGERIE.  595 

"  Fefteen,"  Campanini  shouted  once  more. 

Just  theu  Charles  stepped  forward  and  offered  to 
lift  up  little  Hop-o'  My  Thumb. 

"  Who  is  playing  this  game,  anyhow?  "  the  General 
fiercely  demanded. 

♦*  Fefteen,"  again  shouted  Campanini. 

"That  makes  three  times  the  bloody  Italian  has 
said  <  fefteen,'  "  Thumb  remarked,  reo^aining  his  lost 
temper,  and  then  to  Campanini' s  dismay  he  proceeded 
leisurely  to  win  the  game. 

"  Elefen  dollars  at  pokair,  twenty-five  cents  at  bil- 
liards —  elefen  twenty-five,"  the  tenor  kept  muttering 
during  the  rest  of  the  day,  and  that  night  at  the  opera 
Col.  Mapleson  could  not  understand  why  Campanini 
was  so  hoarse. 

The  "Wild  Ape  of  Borneo  "  seems  to  be  quite  an 
intelligent  animal  and  displays  first-rate  taste  in  choos- 
ing his  company.  He  has  learned  by  experience  that 
girls  were  made  to  be  huirged  and  kissed.  Through 
the  bars  of  his  cage  he  has  seen  many  a  rural  lass's 
waist  in  the  power  of  a  plough-boy's  arm,  and  watched 
their  lips  meet  in  a  smack  tliat  more  than  discounted 
the  old  minstrel  joke  about  the  sound  resembling  the 
noise  made  by  a  cow  pulling  her  hoof  out  of  the  mud. 
It  was  no  wonder,  then,  that  when  the  "wild  ape"  got 
out  of  his  cage,  while  the  circus  was  exhibiting  down 
South,  he  forgot  all  his  Borneo  breeding,  and  made  a 
rush  for  one  of  the  prettiest  girls  under  the  flapping 
canvas.  He  got  one  arm  around  her  neck  and  with 
the  paw  that  was  free  caught  her  chignon  and  made  a 
desperate  effort  to  obtain  a  kiss.  The  girl's  escort 
was  at  first  terrified  and  felt  like  climbino^  one  of  the 
quarter-poles,  all  the  females  in  the  neighborhood 
shrieked,  and  the  males  began  to  dive  under  their 
seats.     At  last  a  gentleman  rushed  up  with  drawn  re- 


590 


IN  THE   MENAGERIE. 


volver  and  fired  a  shot  close  to  the  ape's  ear,  where- 
upon he  at  once  abandoned  his  osculatory  efforts,  and 
made  his  escape. 

A  curiosity   that   has   been    before    the    pnblic  for 
almost  twenty  years  is    the    *'  two-headed  woman  ," 


Millie  Christine.  The  fact  of  the  matter  is  tiiat  there 
are  two  women  joined  together  l)olow  the  waist,  but  as 
they  have  a  sinirle  piiy.sical  organization  their  manager 
has  seen  fit  to  call  them  one.  This  freak  of  nature  is 
more  astonishing  than  were  the  Siamese  twins  or  the 
Ilunirarian  sisters.     Tiio  two-headed  woman  was  born 


IN  THE   MENAGERIE.  597 

of  slave  parents  on  the  plantation  of  Alexander  McCoy 
near  the  town  of  Whiteville,  Columbus  County,  North 
Carolina,    on   July    11,   1851.      Prior   to    this    Millie 
Christine's  mother  had  given   birth  to   five   boys   and 
two  girls,  all  of  ordinary  size  and  without  deformity. 
The  "  tAvo-headed  woman"  will  be  best  understood 
by  redding  an  extract  from  a  lecture  by  Prof.   Pan- 
coast  of  the  Jeiferson  Medical  College,  Philadelphia. 
The  Professor  examined  this  curiosity  and   discussed 
upon  the  subject  before  a  large  gathering   of  medical 
men.     In  introducing  Millie  and  Christine,  he  said  he 
considered  them  the  most  interesting  monstrosity  of 
their  class  that  has   ever  come  under  the  notice  of 
scientific  men,  far  more  interesting  than  the  Siamese 
twins.     In  the  midst  of  his  discourse  the  young  ladies 
entered,  clad  in  green  silk  on  their  two  bodies,  pretty 
little  bronze   boots   on  their  four  feet,  white  kids   on 
their   four  hands.     They  moved  forward  like  an  ex- 
panded V,  with  a  crab-like  movement  that  was  not 
ungraceful.     Born    back-to-back;    the    Professor    ex- 
plained  that  the  natural  desire  of  each  to   walk  face 
forward   had  twisted  them  in  their  present  position. 
Separate    entities,   separate    individualities,  each  can 
pursue  separate  lines  of  thought  and  conversation  inde- 
pendent of  the  other.     From  habit  their  appetites  call 
for  food  and  drink  at  the  same  time.     All  the  ills  of 
flesh  are  not,  however,  necessarily  theirs  in  common. 
One  may  have  the  toothache   and  the  other   be  free 
from  any  ache.     But  in  the  examination  conducted  to- 
day the  Professor  discovered  a  remarkable  development 
of  sensibility  since  his  previous  examination,  eight'years 
ago.    Touchingthem  on  any  extreme  of  the  body,  on  any 
foot,  for  example,  both  in  common  were  conscious  of 
the  touch.     Christine  has  been  and  is  now  the  larger 
and  stronger  of  the  two.     As  children  they   used  to 


598  IX    THE    MENAOEUIE. 

have  little  struggles  and  (quarrels  for  suprcinacy,  l)ut, 
as  they  could  not  got  away  from  each  other,  they  early 
concluded  that  the  best  way  to  get  along  in  their  novel 
path  through  life  was  to  yield  to  each  other.  Their 
present  happiness  and  allcction  for  each  other  is  an 
example  for  couples  who  are  3'^oked  together  in  marital 
bonds.  Sometimes  Christine  rolls  over  Millie  in  bed 
without  awakening  her.  Both  can  sleep  separately. 
They  can  stand  and  walk  on  their  outside  legs,  but 
they  prefer  to  walk  on  all  fours.  Millie  cannot  lift  up 
Christine's  legs,  or  Christine  Millie's  legs.  Since  the 
Hungarian  sisters,  there  has  been  no  similar  case  re- 
ported reaching  adult  life  for  one  hundred  and  seventy 
years.  The  bond  of  union  between  these,  which  is 
just  above  the  bones  of  the  spine,  is  chiefly  cartilagin- 
ous, but  the  spines  are  so  closely  approximated  that 
there  is  an  osseous  union  between  them.  To  the  ques- 
tion by  Professor  Pancoast,  whether  either  was  engaged 
to  bo  married,  each  denied  the  soft  impeachment  with 
decision,  though  the  Professor  explained  that  physi- 
cally there  are  no  serious  objections  to  the  marriage 
of  Her  or  Them  ;  but  morally  there  was  a  most  de- 
cided one.  Durino  the  Professor's  lecture  the  Misses 
Christine  Millie  and  Millie  Christine  api)eared  very 
much  interested  in  tho  diagnosis  of  their  sinirular  con- 
dition  and  evidenced  their  superior  intelligence  by 
their  apt  and  ready  answers. 

Turning  from  the  human  to  the  zoological  branch  of 
the  exhibition,  we  find  the  usual  assortment  of  animals 
from  the  moidvcy  up  to  Jumbo,  the  elephant,  who  is  only 
one  of  a  dozen  in  the  possession  of  his  owner.  All  jier- 
forming  elephants  arc  well  trained,  and  there  is  scarcely 
one  that  cannot  ligure  in  the  ring,  responding  to  the 
good  advice  of  the  trainer,  as  the  keepers  often  style 
themselves.     The    monkeys  are  always    a    source  of 


IN   THE  MENAGEUIE. 


599 


amusement,  and  never  loose  their  drawing  power. 
Thej  are  intelligent  animals,  but  the  inclination  they 
have  for  mischief  makes  them  quite  dangerous.  They 
tell  a  funny  story  about  an  actor  out  West  who  had  a 
pet  monkey  that    he    carried    with  him  wherever  he 


JUMBO. 


went,  even  to  the  theatre.  Jocko  appeared  to  be  per- 
fectly harmless,  and  as  he  had  been  at  the  theatre 
night  after  night  without  making  trouble,  his  master 
never  dreamed  that  he  would  do  anything  out  of  the 
way.  Imagine  his  surprise  therefore  when  one  night 
as  he  was  in  the  midst  of  a  comedy  part  down  came 


600  IN   TIIK   MENAORRTE. 

Jocko  tVom  the  "  flies  "  with  :i  false  face  he  had  filched 
out  of  the  property-room.  His  appearance  brought 
down  the  house  and  the  play  was  spoiled. 

A  traveller  in  Japan  writing  about  the  amusements 
there  tells  us  of  a  very  remarkable  Sigmian  specimen. 
He  says  :  "There  is  an  unpretentious  show,  costing 
one  cent  to  witness,  that  is  full  of  interest  to  those 
who  have  leanings  toward  Darwin's  theory  of  the 
origin  of  mankind.  It  has  a  trained  monkey  of  no 
mean  attainments.  The  creature  stands  upright  about 
three  feet  high,  a  well-developed  and  intellectual- 
looking  monkey,  which  \v\\\  go  through  all  the  postur- 
ing known  to  the  famous  India-rul)ber  man,  and  some 
that  that  famous  individual  could  not  throw  himself 
into,  but  the  crowning  feat  that  he  has  been  taughf  i» 
to  dance  the  Ja})anese  dance  to  perfection,  taking  the 
exact  step,  having  the  correct  sway  of  the  body,  keep- 
ing time  faultlessly,  and  using  his  arms  and  hands  in 
exact  accord  with  the  movements  of  the  feet.  It  is 
difficult  to  realize  that  a  dumb  brute  can  be  educated 
as  completely  as  this  creature  is.  Oscar  Wilde  and 
this  monkey  would  make  a  strong  partnership  in  the 
platform  business,  for  the  monkey  is  certaiidy  an 
lesthete  — "  a  darling  and  a  daisy." 

If  any  reader  wants  to  l)uy  a  menagerie  he  can  ob- 
tain his  curiosities  from  dealers  in  New  York  or  Europe. 
He  must  have  plenty  of  money  though,  as  the  ])riees 
of  animals  range  high,  as  will  be  seen  in  the  following 
figures:  An  elephant  may  be  had  for  $1G,00() ;  lion 
and  lioness  with  cage,  $9,000;  sea  cow,  $8,000;  })air 
of  large  leopards  and  two  smaller  ditto,  $5,000  ;  Aus- 
tralian kangaroo,  $2,000  ;  Australian  wombat,  $12,000  ; 
ostrich,  $1,000;  rf)yal  tiger,  $r),000;  sacred  camel, 
$2,000  ;  rare  birds,   monkeys  and   lesser  animals,   in- 


IN  THE   MENAGERIE.  601 

eluding  those  of  American   nativity,  $20,000 ;  total, 
$60,000. 

Among  the  rarest  animals,  says  a  writer  on  this  sub- 
ject, are  the  hippopotamus  and  the  gnu,  or  horned- 
horse.  A  first-class  hippopotamus  is  worth  five  or  six 
thousand  dollars,  an  elephant  from  three  to  six  thou- 
.  sand  dollars,  a  giraffe  is  worth  about  three  thousand 
dollars,  a  Bengal  tiger  or  tigress  will  bring  two  thou- 
sand dollars,  leopards  vary  from  six  to  nine  hundred 
dollars,  a  hyena  is  worth  about  five  hundred  dollars, 
while  an  ostrich  rates  at  three  hundred  dollars.  The 
price-list  shows  that,  although  expenses  may  be  heavy, 
receipts  are  proportionately  large,  and  that  it  does  not 
require  many  large  beasts  to  make  a  good  business  for 
one  trader.  A  New  York  house  in  three  years  sold 
twenty  lions,  twelve  elephants,  six  giraffes,  four  Bengal 
tigers,  eight  leopards,  eight  hyenas,  twelve  ostriches 
and  two  hippopotami,  being  a  total  business  of  about 
$112,000,  or  over  $37,000  per  annum,  in  the  line  of 
larger  beasts  alone,  exclusive  of  the  smaller  show- 
beasts,  such  as  monkeys,  and  exclusive  also  of  birds, 
which  latter  items  more  than  double  the  amount  given. 
Gnus,  or  horned-horses,  have  come  into  great  demand 
of  late  years,  both  from  their  oddity  and  rarity,  and 
are  valued  at  seventeen  or  eighteen  hundred  dollars 
apiece.  An  elephant  is  always  in  demand,  and  sells, 
whether  it  be  male  or  female,  large  or  small,  "  trick" 
or  otherwise.  Ostriches,  though  heavy  eaters,  are  not 
very  expensive,  as  they  have  cast-iron  stomachs  and 
digest  stone,  glass,  iron,  or  almost  anything  else  tha 
one  chooses  to  give  them,  though  they  are  judges 
of  good  meat  when  they  get  it.  They  are  not  the  only 
creatures  that  eat  glass.  Heller  or  Houdin — I  forget 
which  of  these  magicians  —  found  a  taste  among  Ori- 
ental jugglers  for  pounded  glass,  which  they  ate  in 


602  IN  THE    MENAGERIE. 

largo  qunntitics.  A  trial  by  the  Caucasian  trickster 
developed  the  fact  that  glass  was  not  only  not  injuri- 
ous when  taken  in  reasojuiblc  doses,  but  that  it  served  as 
an  appetizer,  stimulating  the  stomach  to  hunger  after 
food.  There  are  two  species  of  ostrich  known  to  the 
trade,  the  black  and  the  gray  ;  both  are  very  strong, 
fleet,  and  practically  untamable.  Lions,  tigers  and 
leopards  form  constituent  attractions  of  almost  all 
menageries,  and  are  too  familiar  to  need  description. 
It  may  be  here  remembered,  however,  that  peo})le  who 
deal  with  these  creatures  find  that  there  is  compara- 
tively little  danger  to  themselves  to  be  dreaded  from 
either  lions  or  lionesses.  These  animals  never  attack 
any  human  being,  save  when  excessively  hungry ;  and 
when  enraged,  from  any  cause,  always  show  such  visi- 
ble signs  as  put  their  keepers  on  their  guard  ;  whereas, 
the  opposite  of  these  statements  is  true  in  regard  to 
tigers  and  leopards  —  the  latter  especially,  which  are 
regarded  by  those  in  the  trade  as  the  most  dangerous, 
cruel  and  treacherous  of  all  the  beasts  with  which  they 
are  brought  in  contact.  American  lions  or  jaguars, 
and  American  or  Brazilian  tigers  are  very  fierce,  un- 
tamable and  stronir,  altliou<j:h  inferior  in  size  to  the 
lion  or  tiger  proper.  Of  monkeys  and  baboons  little 
more  than  has  already  been  saiil  need  be  repeated  here. 
There  are  al)out  one  hundred  and  fifty  dillerent  species 
of  these  creatures,  the  most  intelligent  of  which  is  the 
ringtailod  monkey,  and  the  most  stupid,  that  variety 
known  as  the  lion  monkey,  from  its  being  gifted, 
instead  of  brains,  with  a  long  mane.  The  variety  of 
deer  and  antelope  are  numerous,  and  always  find  ready 
purchasers  ;  the  genuine  antelope  will  bring  two  or 
three  hundred  dollars  in  the  market. 

A  show  of  wild   animals   is    one   thing,  and  a  very 
good  thing  sometimes  ;  but  the  same  number  of  wild 


IN  THE  MENAGERIE.  603 

beasts  when  not  in  show  —  but  merely  in  winter  quar- 
ters or  out  and  awaiting  sale,  presents  a  different,  and, 
sometimes,  a   curious  spectacle.     Thus   in  a  certain 
back  yard  in  the  city  of  New  York,  as  singular  a  sight 
is  presented  to  the  lover  of  animal  life  as  is  afforded 
probably  in  the  range  of  the  whole  world.     You  enter 
by  a  low  doorway,  and   at  first  glance  you  see  only  a 
number  of  boxes,  with  iron  bars  in  front  —  amateur 
cages  in  fact  —  and  arranged  alongside  of  each  other, 
just  as  cases   maybe,  without  the  slightest  order  or 
general  arrangement.     If  you  look  a  second  time  at 
these  boxes  you  will  be  made  aware  of  the  fact  that 
they  are  inhabited  by  certain    moving   animals ;    for 
pairs  of  bright  eyes  will  gleam  out  upon  you  through 
the  iron  bars  and  occasional  switching  of  some  beastly 
tails  against  the  sides  of  the  cages  will  become  audible, 
as  will   every  now  and  then  a  deep  smothered  roar. 
Inspecting  the  box-cages  or  cage-boxes,  more  closely 
you  will  see,  further,  that  one  of  them  contains  a  three- 
year  old  lion,  just  getting  his  young  moustache,  or, 
what  answers  the  same  purpose  to  a  lion — his  mane. 
Next  box  to  this  you  will  find  a  lioness,  about  the  same 
age  as  her  mate,  a  fine  specimen  of  African  female, 
who  seems  very  much  attached   to  a  dog  that  shares 
her  cage  with  her  in  perfect  harmony,  at  least  so  far 
as  the  lioness  is  concerned,  for  she  does  all  she  can  to 
live  at  peace  with  the  dog,  yielding  to  his  wishes  in  all 
particulars,  giving  up  her  meat  whenever  he  takes  a 
fancy  to  it,   and  getting  out  of  his  way  whenever  he 
wishes  to  walk  about,  although  doggy  does  not  seem 
to  be  a  very  amiable  partner,  and  every  now  and  then 
gives  the  lioness  a  bit  of  his  mind  by  biting  her  in  the 
ear.     A  little  beyond  this  strange  couple  lie  two  more 
boxes  —  the  upper  one    containing  a  pair    of  young 
hunting  leopards,  as  playful  as  young  kittens,  which 


G04  IN  THR  MKNAOERtE. 

spend  their  time  in  culling  to  the  cats  of  the  noighbor- 
hood,  the  lower  one  being  the  scene  of  the  imprison- 
ment of  a    full-grown,    very  handsome,    very    cross 
leopardess,  who  is  always  snarling  and  seeking  whom 
or  what   she    may  devour.     This    latter    beat^t  has   a 
special  antipathy  to  a  young  lad  who  has  charge  of  her, 
and  tries  half  a  dozen  times  a  day  to  make  mince-meat 
of  him.     On  the  opposite  side  are  a  number  of  boxes, 
containing  monkeys  of  various  species    and  baboons. 
One  of  these   monkeys  is  a  jovial   female,  christened 
Victoria,  and  is  one  of  the  most  expert  pickpockets  in 
New  York,  which  is  saying    a  great    deal.     Vic    can 
relieve  a  visitor  of  his  watch  and  chain  or  pocket-book 
in  a  manner  most  refreshing  to  a  monkey  and  moralist 
to  witness,  and  although  as  ugly  as  sin   is  as  quick  as 
lightning.     Next  door  to   this  klei)tomaniac  ape  is  a 
hai)py  family  of  monkeys  —  father,  mother  and  baby — 
who  live  together  lively  as  clams  at  the  turn  of  tide. 
On  the  ground,  at  a  little  distance,  lies  another  box, 
which    contains    a    monster    bal)oon.     This   fellow    is 
called  Jonas,  and    is,  without  exception,  the   ugliest 
individual  in  existence  to  which  the  Almighty  has  ever 
given  a  shape  —  such  as  it  is.     These  big  apes  are  fre- 
quently palmed  off  on  the  public  for  gorillas  ;  they  are 
strong  as  giants,  gentle  as  lambs,  and  can    be  taught 
tricks  like  dogs.     As  in   the  case  of  canines,  severity 
and  kindness  are  resorted  to  in  training  them.     Prof. 
Harry  Parker,  in   speaking  to  mo  about  educating  his 
dogs,    said   he    rarely  used  the  Avhij)  upon   them,    but 
endeavored,   by  i)roperIy  feeding  and   speaking  kind 
words  to   them,  to  make  them  obedient  to   his  com- 
mand, still    the  whip  must   be  used.      Dogs  that  hop 
around  on  two  f(!et  have  their  little  limbs  lashed  from 
under  them  until  they  almost  feel  the  sting  of  the  raw- 
hide in  tiie  tone  of  the  trainer's  voice.     Clown  doirs. 


IN  THE    MENAGERIE.  605 

which  have  recently  been  prominent  features  of  circuses 
and  variety  shows,  are  taught  to  go  through  every 
article  that  is  put  down  upon  the  floor  by  their 
masters  ;  that  is  why  they  squirm  through  a  hoop,  run 
under  and  overturn  chairs,  pass  under  bundles  and 
upset  the  leaping  basket  that  is  used  in  dog  circuses. 
Prof.  Parker  and  Prof.  Willis  Cobb,  I  may  here 
remark,  are  the  best  dog-trainers  in  the  country,  and 
both  have  large  and  fine  collections  of  educated  cani- 
nes. 

In  the  rear  portion  of  the  yard  which  we  have  been 
visiting  is  an  inclosure,  in  which  three  or  four  horned 
horses  or  ponies,  called  gnus,  are  digesting  their 
rations  ;  next  to  these  is  a  case  in  which  is  confined  a 
fretful  porcupine,  who  shows  his  bristles  on  the  least 
provocation,  and  sometimes  when  there  is  no  insult 
meant  at  all.  The  cataloo;ue  of  cao;es  or  boxes  is  com- 
pleted  by  that  in  which  is  held  in  duress  a  Brazilian 
tiger  of  the  fiercest  possible  description,  who  does 
nothing  but  glare  upon  you  and  want  to  eat  you.  The 
meat-eaters  in  the  collection  are  fed  only  once  a  day  — 
at  noon  —  and  cost  about  a  dollar  per  day  to  feed  ;  the 
fruit-eaters,  like  the  elephant,  eat  all  the  time,  as  fancy 
prompts  ;  while  the  vegetarians,  like  the  monkeys,  take 
their  three  square  meals  a  day.  As  a  rule,  all  animals 
enjoy  a  better  average  of  health  than  man,  because 
they  have  no  acquired  tastes  or  dissipated  habits.  The 
elephant  lives  for  centuries  ;  the  parrot  is  a  centena- 
rian, while  the  lion  lives  but  twenty  years  or  so.  On 
the  whole,  the  average  life  of  man  is  greater  than  that 
of  the  majority  of  the  so-called  beasts,  though  their 
average  of  health  exceeds  his. 

Wax- works,  of  one  kind  or  other,  enter  into  the  dis- 
play made  in  the  menagerie  tent ;  but  the  figures  all 
seem  broken  or  enfeebled  by  long  usage,  and  instead  of 


(506  IN   THE   MENAGERIE. 

being;  attractive,  many  of  them  arc  repulsive.  How 
different  from  Madame  Tnssaud's  exhibition  —  the 
prototype  of  all  the  efforts  that  have  been  made  in  the 
wax-work  line  !  A  correspondent  who  visited  this  dis- 
play many  years  ago,  when  the  display  hud  a  world- 
wide fame,  wrote  : — 

"  Madame  Tnssaud's  famous  exhibition  of  wax  stat- 
uary and  works  in  wax  afforded  me  a  very  entertaining 
evening's  occupation.  Here  are  full-length  portraits 
in  wax  of  all  the  notables  of  the  world  ;  Queen  Victo- 
ria, Prince  Ali)ert,  the  royal  children,  George  IH., 
Queen  Charlotte,  George  IV.,  William  IV.,  George 
II.,  Louis  XIV.,  Emperor  Louis  Napoleon  and  his 
empress  in  their  bridal  costume,  Henry  VIII.,  Cardi- 
nal "Wolsey,  all  the  present  sovereigns  of  P^urope,  Kos- 
suth, Gen.  Tom  Thumb,  etc.,  nurnl)ering  nearly  two 
hundred  figures  in  all,  so  artistically  arranged  and  so 
well  executed  that  the  effect  upon  the  visitor  on  enter- 
ing is  the  same  as  on  comini;  into  a  jjrand  drawing-room 
filled  with  noble  ladies  and  gentlemen.  So  perfect  is 
everything  that  you  look  to  hear  the  figures  speak,  and 
can  hardly  convince  yourself  that  they  do  not  move. 

"The  second  room  of  Madame  Tnssaud's  exhibition 
is  called  the  Robe  Room,  which  contains  the  figure  of 
George  IV.  wearing  the  order  of  the  Garter.  This 
robe  was  worn  by  his  majesty  in  the  i)rocession  to 
Westminster  Abbey,  at  his  coronation.  To  the  right 
of  this  is  the  robe  the  same  monarch  Avore  at  the  open- 
ing of  Parliament,  and  on  tlie  left  the  robe  worn  hy 
the  King  in  returning  to  Westminster  Abbey  after  the 
coronation.  The  cost  of  these  three  robes  was  about 
$90,000.  The  third  room  of  the  exhibition  is  called 
the  Golden  Chamber,  and  contains  relics  of  the  Em- 
peror Napoleon,  among  which  is  the  camp  bedstead 
used  by  Napoleon  during  his  seven  years  at  St.  Helena, 


IN   THE   MENAGERIE.  607 

with  the  mattress  and  pillow  on  which  he  died  ;  the 
coronation  robe  of  Napoleon  and  the  robe  of  the  Em- 
press Josephine ;  the  celebrated  flag  of  Ell)a ;  the 
sword  worn  by  the  Emperor  during  his  campaign  in 
Egypt,  and  many  other  relics  of  him.  In  another  room 
is  the  carriage  in  which  Napoleon  made  the  campaign 
of  Russia,  and  which  was  captured  on  the  evening  of 
the  battle  of  Waterloo  ;  also  the  carriage  he  used  at 
St.  Helena,  in  which,  of  course,  I  sat  down,  according 
to  custom. 

"  In  another  room  are  many  relics  of  the  French 
Ee volution,  among  which  are  the  instruments  by  which 
the  unfortunate  Louis  XIV.  was  beheaded,  as  also 
Robespierre  and  others.  These  are  but  a  few  of  the 
many  curious  and  interesting  objects  to  be  seen  at  this 
exceedingly  entertaining  exhibition  ;  and  I  passed  sev- 
eral hours  here,  quite  lost  in  the  examination  of  the 
collection  and  the  recollections  which  the  various  arti- 
cles awakened. 

The  menagerie,  no  matter  how  small  or  how  exten- 
sive it  may  be,  always  has  much  within  its  cages  and 
lying  around  under  its  canvas  to  interest  young  and 
old  alike.  It  is  like  a  volume  of  natural  history  that 
may  be  forever  studied  without  exhausting  the  interest 
that  attaches  to  it,  and  the  knowledge  contained  in 
it.  Thrown  down  after  a  single  perusal,  the  book  is 
picked  up  again  and  again,  and  each  time  its  pictures 
and  pages  seem  as  fresh  and  entertaining  as  they  were 
in  the  beginning.  So,  too,  the  collection  of  curiosi- 
ties, that  now-a-days  form  a  very  important  part  of 
every  tent-show,  never  loses  its  attraction  for  the 
public.  Gray-haired  men  who  in  boyhood  looked, 
open-mouthed  and  astonished,  into  the  den  of  lions, 
still  find   the  same  pleasure  in  contemplating  these 


608  IN  THE    MENAGERIE. 

wonderful  beasts  from  a  safe  distance,  and  take  dclii^ht 
in  making  their  children  acquainted  with  them.  The 
tangled  forests  and  matted  iunsjles  of  new  re2:ions  are 
constantly  giving  up  new  specimens  of  wild  animal 
life  ;  and  with  the  old  reliable  attractions  still  plen- 
tiful, and  startling  novelties  occasionally  coming  to 
the  surface,  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  the 
menagerie  will  retain  its  i)resent  hold  upon  the  hearts 
of  the  people,  and  last  as  long  as  there  is  canvas  in 
the  world  to  cover  one  or  color  enoujjh  to  fill  an  ordi- 
nary  stand  of  bills. 

Now  we  have  seen  about  all  there  is  to  see.  Passing 
out  and  by  the  side-show  blower  with  his  fat  woman 
and  lean  man,  his  glass  blower  and  Irish  Circassian 
girls,  his  juggler,  and  the  heartless  l)and  of  music  he 
has  playing  at  one  end  of  his  dirty  tent ;  we  move 
down  the  street,  the  sound  of  the  side-show  music  dies 
out,  the  canvas  fades  behind  the  house-tops,  and  we 
have  left  the  show  world  with  all  its  sunshine  and 
shadow,  its  laughter  and  tears. 


UCSB    LIBRARY 


coi.Tu.rr,!!""'®''^'*^  °^  California 
305  Dp  1     "n"^^'^^^'-  ^'BRARY  FACILITY 
305  De  Neve  Drive  -  Parking  Lot  17   .   Box  951  ^ra 
LOS  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA  90095  1388 


I 

P 


I 


-,  tf^i^ 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA      000  253  923    7 


